


Mutually Beneficial

by nellasera



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Humor, Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:42:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 35,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23428672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nellasera/pseuds/nellasera
Summary: It isn't often Hermione Granger does stupid things, but making up a boyfriend to avoid pity from her ex and saying she'll bring the made up man to a couple's getaway certainly could be classified as one of her stupider moments. Enter Draco Malfoy, who suggests an arrangement: they pose as a couple long enough for her to keep her pride, and for him to better the Malfoy name by dating a war heroine. What could go wrong?
Relationships: Gabrielle Delacour/Ron Weasley, Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Luna Lovegood/Theodore Nott
Comments: 354
Kudos: 967





	1. Mutually Beneficial

**Author's Note:**

> This is not to be taken super seriously. It is meant as a fun, lighthearted fluff fest with some classic fake dating.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading :)

Hermione Granger walked over to the bar as quickly as she could, hoping she did not appear as bothered or flustered as she felt.

Normally she would not drink at an event like this. It was a loss of control in public and a semi-professional setting that she did not like to have, especially here – among the ultra rich – where she felt so out of her element. But she needed _something_ to calm her fraying nerves and to quell the irrational flash of fury she had gotten when she had seen the most recent couple walk in a few moments ago.

Weaving her way through mingling people in their finest evening wear, she approached the bar and slipped into a stool at the far end.

"Give me the strongest whiskey you've got," she said to the bartender, who nodded, plucked a glass and a bottle off shelves, and began to pour.

"Well, well," came a lilting drawl from behind her.

Hermione stiffened.

There was only one person that voice could belong to.

Sure enough, when she peeked over her shoulder she was greeted by the sight of none other than Draco Malfoy. He was wearing immaculate dress robes that were the exact color of his gray eyes, and he appeared incredibly amused.

He slid into the stool next to her and she rolled her eyes. Mostly out of habit than actual irritation or dislike. She had seen plenty of Malfoy since the war's end, and she was more than used to him.

After taking the option to repeat her seventh year and then leaving Hogwarts two years ago, Hermione had gotten involved in charitable work. She had joined the board of a charity for house elves and other non-human magical beings, as well as a second charity dedicated to assisting and supporting the victims of the wars and their trauma.

Malfoy, she had initially been displeased to discover, had also been on the board of the both. Twice a month for two years she had seen him at board meetings and several other events put on by the charities throughout the year. Over that time, however, she had been pleasantly surprised by him. He did not _only_ donate obscene amounts of money, as she had expected. She had thought his involvement with the charity had just been a calculating and very cunningly Slytherin way of making the Malfoys look good in public again (and she still suspected that played at least some role in his behavior). But he was actually a good board member, making helpful suggestions and sometimes volunteering to help with events.

No, she no longer could say she _disliked_ Malfoy. Their verbal sparring was no longer cruel, and sometimes it was even entertaining, but his teasing or taunts —usually based on his unnervingly accurate perception — were the last thing that she needed right now.

"Didn't know you were coming tonight, Malfoy," she said primly, throwing him a sidelong glance and trying to ignore how nicely his robes fit him.

She wasn’t blind, after all. She was aware that it was _Malfoy_ , but still. The pointed features of his childhood had become a pleasant sort of angular as he had grown into a man, and while he wasn’t conventionally attractive he was still nice to look at. He was tall and lean, though a different sort than Ron. Malfoy was lithe, and he moved with an almost enviable aristocratic grace.

"Neither did I until a few hours ago," he said, shrugging and signaling the bartender for another whiskey. "My mother insisted."

Ah, yes. Narcissa Malfoy.

Hermione had to hand it to that woman: she was very clever, and knew how to try and return to the public's good graces. The Malfoys always had known how to align themselves with power, after all. The amount of charitable work Narcissa had done since the war was staggering, and it had half worked.

The Malfoys no longer got curled lips or insults hurled at them in public. But the underlying contempt was clearly still there; they were disliked by both sides.

"You seem tense, Granger. Have you got an even longer stick up your arse than usual this evening?" She flicked him an irritated look, but his gray eyes just glinted at her, clearly enjoying himself.

"Your presence isn’t helping."

He placed a mock hand over his heart before nodding at the bartender, who had just set down his whiskey. "That offends. It's also a lie."

"Malfoy, while I acknowledge that you may not be the garbage human you were at school I promise that you are still massively insufferable." She scowled and took a long drink, shuddering a little at the powerful taste.

He smirked. "You wanted that strong drink before you knew I was here."

He paused, and she tensed.

She knew that pause.

He was relishing the fact that he was about to go in for the kill.

"Could it be," he mused sarcastically, and she heard the wicked grin in his voice, “That you are so very upset because a certain ginger just walked in with another witch on his arm?”

“No,” she snapped, realizing too late that she should have said it slower.

She glared at Malfoy, but he just gave her a smug smile.

He knew he was right. She hated that he was right.

Hermione wasn’t angry that Ron was dating someone else. Of course not. They had broken up six whole months ago, after all.

No. Absolutely not.

It just would have been nice to get a forewarning before he showed up to an event for charities with _Gabrielle fucking Delacour_ holding onto his elbow and smiling radiantly for the press. Of all the ways to find out your ex is in a new relationship, taking a part Veela public was a heavy blow.

All the men in the room were practically drooling.

Hermione scowled into her glass as she took another very long drink.

“Gabrielle Delacour,” Malfoy mused slowly, in his signature drawl. “Didn’t the eldest Weasley brother marry her sister?” He raised his eyebrows. “And people say the Malfoys are incestuous.”

“The Malfoys actually _were_ incestuous,” Hermione told him, rolling her eyes. “Granted, not as bad as the Blacks, but in the Middle Ages your family was marrying _actual_ blood relatives. You have no room to judge.”

He just chuckled. “Please, Granger. You honestly can tell me it’s not a little strange to you?”

She pursed her lips. “I’m not willing to gossip about it. If Ron is happy, then I am happy for him.” She took another furious drink of her whiskey.

There was a long silence.

“You’re still not over Weasley.” Malfoy arched an eyebrow at her.

“Of course I am,” she sputtered irritably. “Besides, it’s not as if I’m discussing my love life with _you_ , of all people.”

“You offend yet again, Granger.” A slow smile curved the corner of his lips upward. “Besides, you don’t need to discuss it. It’s all over your face.” He chuckled and took a triumphant sip of his drink, eyes sparkling with mirth.

Hermione drained her glass and stood, face blazing with determination. “I am not bothered by this, and I will prove it.”

She ignored Malfoy’s low chuckle and hurried away from the bar, fuming; though the anger was quickly melting to nerves the closer she got to Ron and Gabrielle.

Particularly when Ron’s blue eyes swept over the crowd and spotted her.

Merlin, she was glad she had time on her side and this wasn’t her first interaction with Ron since they had broken up. They hadn’t seen each other that much in the past half year, and each time they did it had been distinctly awkward. Hermione had begun using work as an excuse to avoid Weasley dinners. Still, it was better than nothing. At least she was mildly equipped to deal with this now.

Heart pounding uncomfortably, she approached them. “Hello,” she said politely, feeling how warm she was and wishing she hadn’t drank that whiskey so quickly.

“Hermione,” said Ron, giving her a lopsided grin. “Hi.”

“Oh! ‘ermione!” Gabrielle was beaming, and before Hermione knew it the other woman had put her hands on Hermione’s elbows, leaned forward, and kissed her on both cheeks. “Eet eez so wonderful to zee you!”

“Thank you,” said Hermione, a little taken aback by the incredibly warm greeting, though she supposed Gabrielle had always been very kind whenever Hermione had interacted with her. “So lovely to see you both as well. I wasn’t aware you were a couple. Or that you would be coming.” She threw Ron a pointed glance, and he suddenly looked a little sheepish, as if just now realizing his mistake, which was probably exactly what was happening.

Hermione felt a powerful wave of both affection and irritation. Ron was by no means an idiot or purposefully inconsiderate, but he sometimes did forget certain things might be nice to know. This being a prime example.

“We’ve been together about two month now, and recently decided to go public,” Ron hastened to explain. “And coming here was a bit last minute. Gabrielle wanted to see some different charities, you know, ask about donating...”

“I will be donating to yours!” said Gabrielle, smiling.

“Oh that’s very kind,” said Hermione, returning the smile. “What do you do, Gabrielle?” She was wondering how this younger woman had so much money that she could frequent an event where the wealthy people of Wizarding Britain essentially decided which charities to throw their money at.

As far as she understood, the Delacours were not hurting for money, but they weren’t that wealthy either.

“I am a model,” she said cheerfully. “Eet pays nicely.”

_I bet it does_ , thought Hermione, gazing at Gabrielle’s unworldly beauty and feeling an annoying twinge of inadequacy.

"Are you – er – here with someone?” Ron asked tentatively.

“No,” said Hermione.

She should have stopped there.

She wasn't sure what possessed her to continue. Possibly the look of polite surprise on Gabrielle's face, or the flash of pity that she saw on Ron's.

But next thing she knew, she was word vomiting.

“I mean – well – I _am_ seeing someone. It’s...a bit new. And we just want to keep things quiet at first. He’s, um, a very private person in that way, but we were planning on...um, coming out with it soon.”

_Oh my god, what are you saying_?? she screamed internally.

“Oh!” exclaimed Gabrielle, clapping her hands together excitedly. “I just ‘ad the most wonderful idea!” She took Hermione’s hands in hers. “We ‘are going away to France for a long weekend, and we leave theez Friday,” she explained, “There are other couples coming weez us, but one ‘ad to cancel yesterday...”

Hermione saw where this was going and tried to stifle the rising sense of dread.

“Per’aps you would like to come? Eef you worry about privacy, eet will not be in England, so none of theez ‘orrible reporters...” She scowled for a brief moment, still looking like utter perfection as she did so, her eyes ranging behind Hermione and to one of the many paparazzi present in the room. But she was quickly giving Hermione an earnest smile again. “We will all stay at the _chateau_ of my family! We would _adore_ ‘aving you and your lover weez us, ‘ermione!”

Hermione did not need to look at Ron to know he was massively uncomfortable. She heard the slight shuffling of his dress shoes on the floor.

“Oh....oh, Gabrielle, that truly is so thoughtful, but...” She searched desperately for an excuse. “Work is so busy, you know...”

At that, Ron scoffed.

It was the tiniest of scoffs, and he disguised it as a cough.

He had often complained that her work drowned her. He hadn’t technically been wrong, but the little sound hinted at a smug sort of knowledge that she hadn’t changed for _this_ relationship. And despite the fact that this mystery man was completely made up and that, again, Ron technically wasn’t wrong – Hermione _did_ tend to bury herself in work, and it had gotten even worse since they had ended things – she found herself getting defensive, especially remembering all the arguments she and Ron had gotten into over this very thing.

“But perhaps we can make it work,” said Hermione firmly, and Ron’s eyes widened slightly when she glanced at him. The surprise in them gave her a feeling of vicious pleasure, despite the fact that what she was doing was utterly insane and she would surely regret this in less than five minutes. “Getting away from England would be nice for us both, I think.” She forced a smile, even though she rather felt like she was going to explode.

_What the hell are you saying?? There is no ‘us’!!_ her logical brain screeched.

Her emotional brain gave them both a pleasant smile.

“Oh, ‘ow wonderful!” said Gabrielle, kissing Hermione’s cheeks again. “I can send you zee details by owl in zee morning!”

“Sounds lovely,” said Hermione, hoping Gabrielle would forget or change her mind and this would never be spoken of again. “Well, I just wanted to say hello. I’m very happy for you both. Have a nice time.”

She gave another perfunctory smile, they both hugged her and bid goodbye, and when she stepped away she saw that reporters and paparazzi were already descending on Ron and Gabrielle.

Her feet took her back to the bar of their own accord. Each step filled her with a rising sense of panic and foolishness.

“The mighty lioness returns,” drawled Malfoy, eyes full of mischief.

“Oh shut it, Malfoy, not now,” she said, desperately wringing her hands and sitting in the exact same stool as before, slumping dramatically over the bar. “Oh, Merlin. What have I done? _Shit_.”

“Another one for the lady, I think,” she heard Malfoy say to the bartender. “That bad, Granger? Didn’t look like it from here.”

The fact that he had been watching her flounder made it so much worse, even if it didn’t _look_ like she had been floundering. Then again, her back had been to the bar and he had probably mostly been treated to Gabrielle’s intoxicating smiles. Maybe the Veela in her had somehow made Hermione drunker than usual, despite the fact that Hermione should be immune. She also hadn’t eaten dinner and she had slammed back that whiskey.

Ugh, she was so stupid. And she still had to go try and do fundraising, which she was in no mood or state to go and do.

“She’s lovely,” grumbled Hermione, reaching for the glass the bartender passed her and taking a drink immediately. “But it was horrible. Ron asked if I was here with someone, and of course I said no because that was the truth, but then...” She stopped with a little groan, realizing who she was speaking to.

Malfoy just tilted his head. “Then?” he prodded.

The words spilled out. “Then I saw _pity_. And I...said things. Without thinking.”

“What things?”

“Untrue things!” she moaned, clutching her glass tighter. “I told them I was seeing someone, but that we’re just keeping things quiet, and then Gabrielle invited us to a weekend at her bloody chateau in France so I tried to...to use work as an excuse. But then Ron scoffed, and work had always been a sore point with us, so I – I _agreed_! Like an idiot! And – and Merlin, why am I talking to _you_ about this? I’m giving you free ammunition! Not that your Pureblood arse even knows what ammunition _is_ , but the point stands that–”

“Just tell them you’re sick when it comes,” suggested Malfoy, cutting off her ranting. His eyes were glittering with amusement and he seemed to be fighting the urge to laugh.

“I don’t want to lose this breakup,” she growled, slamming back the rest of her glass of whiskey and then setting it back on the counter with more force than necessary.

“You’re a bit of a lightweight, aren’t you?” he commented, frowning, but she hardly heard him.

“I suppose I already have lost it,” she said dully.

It was silent for a long time.

So long that she finally looked up miserably, resigning herself to get Malfoy’s teasing over with. But he didn’t look about to tease. He had a strange expression on his features and a light in his eyes that she couldn’t quite interpret.

Then again, she was tipsy.

She really should have eaten a bigger dinner.

She never should have gone for a drink in the first place.

“Well, go on,” she said, sighing. “Have at it.”

He smirked, and the curious light that had been in his eyes faded. “Actually, I have a suggestion that might help you.”

“You do?” She gaped at him, eyes widening.

He nodded slowly, appraising her. “I can pose as this made up man.”

There was another long silence as she stared at him, mouth wide open, until he finally said snidely, “You’ll attract flies, you know.”

“You?” she finally gasped.

“Me,” he said calmly, though she thought she saw him stiffen a little on his stool. But then he leaned forward and explained very quietly, “It would make sense for us to keep a relationship quiet at first, wouldn’t it? And it’s mutually beneficial, Granger. You get to keep your pride and I am publicly seen dating a war heroine. We can quietly “end” things a predetermined amount of time after we get back. Tell everyone it’s amicable. Act normal at the charities. It ends up being good for both of us.” He suddenly grinned viciously. “Also, Weasley would hate that it’s me and I would thoroughly enjoy making him squirm.”

She threw him an exasperated look at that but then moved her gaze to stare unseeingly at the various bottles behind the bar. “Well...” said Hermione slowly. “I suppose when you put it that way...” She nodded, turning fully in the stool to face him. “Fine. If you’re willing, then it’s a deal.”

He rolled his eyes. “I wouldn’t have suggested it if I wasn’t willing.”

“But you’ll have to kiss me,” she said bluntly. “And touch me and act affectionate with me. In front of everyone. If you can’t handle – ”

He suddenly reached out and covered her hand with his and she faltered.

He was surprisingly warm. She had been expecting him to feel like ice. Maybe because of all the paleness, or how sharp his features were. For a moment, she just stared up at his face, eyes ranging over him with a newfound curiosity. She found herself lingering the longest on the curve of his mouth.

“Checking out your prize, Granger?”

He was grinning again, and when her eyes moved up to his she saw a knowing glint in them. She flushed. “Intellectual curiosity.”

“Well, you’ll satisfy it soon enough,” said Malfoy, pulling his hand away and finishing his drink. He leaned forward again. “Besides, the better question is whether _you_ are ready to answer questions about why you’d stoop to _my_ level, Granger. Not to mention that there may be the issue of dealing with my family. And considering that you are a horrible liar, I don’t have much confidence in your acting skills, so if being near me repulses you–”

“It doesn’t repulse me,” she said, frowning. “You’re attractive enough, Malfoy.”

His eyes glittered. “You really _are_ a lightweight. I was referring to our tumultuous history and the disdain you seem to have for me, but by all means, continue complimenting my physical appearance under the influence of whiskey.”

“Shut up,” she said, swatting his shoulder. “I’m sure I’ll manage.”

He stood from his stool and took a step closer. “You’re certain?”

“Yes,” she said. “I’ve thought it through.”

“Well then,” he murmured. “I’ll contact you tomorrow for details. Now go home.”

“What? But the donations–”

“I’ll take care of it. I’m already here, aren’t I? Besides, I speak their language.”

“Oh, but–”

He chuckled. “Granger, that was my polite way of telling you that I am afraid of you going around and asking for donations due to your tipsiness, but since you are obviously unable to take a hint, I will say it more directly. I will get more money than you will. Leave it to me. Go home and rest. And drink water.”

“Right,” said Hermione, feeling rather dazed. She desperately scanned her brain for something to say in a situation like this. Anything.

What is the proper thing to say to your sometimes coworker who you once truly despised as children but you now actually mostly get along with, just after said coworker agreed to be your fake boyfriend?

Nope. Nothing. She had no idea what to say.

“Well, bye then,” was all that came out, and the last thing she saw as she unsteadily moved out of her stool and away from the bar was his amused grin.


	2. Details

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the kind responses to the first chapter! Hope you like chapter 2 :)

Hermione was fast asleep over a stack of binders in her living room when two things at once awoke her, causing her to jolt up with an abrupt start, her arms flailing and sending some loose pieces of parchment fluttering to the ground. With half-glazed eyes and desperately attempting to comb her unruly hair out of her face with her fingers, she glanced around to try and locate the source of the noise. The first was the tapping of an owl's beak on her windowpane.

The second was the undeniable sound of flames roaring to life in her fireplace, and as this one was more pressing, she turned her attention to that first.

With a little pop, Malfoy's head appeared in the fireplace.

"Oh, hello Granger," he said smoothly, eyeing her with evident amusement. "Did you sleep in your living room?"

She just sighed and stood to open the window and let the owl in, taking the scroll from its leg and letting it fly off again before flopping on the couch again, feeling her eyes itching from lack of sleep. "To what do I owe the pleasure, Malfoy?"

"Am I allowed through your Floo? I want to come discuss the weekend."

She fumbled for her wand and waved it at the fireplace. "Come on, then."

His head disappeared with another pop and as she waited for him to reappear she unrolled the parchment to see that it was a letter from Gabrielle, cheerily giving details about a Portkey for her and her 'lover' to take from the Ministry on Friday afternoon. Hermione's stomach did an uncomfortable squirm.

And then the flames roared to life yet again, and this time Malfoy stepped through, ducking out of the fireplace and nonchalantly dusting himself off.

When his eyes grazed over her, taking in her disheveled state and how she was still wearing her dress from the night before, she flushed and again attempted to comb through her hair with her fingers. It felt like it just made it bushier.

"My, my," he teased, clicking his tongue in mock disapproval and his gaze settling on the stacks of books, rolls of parchment, and various binders all over the room. "You might have cleaned up for company, Granger."

"You surprised me," she said flatly, and then held the scroll out to him. "Seems we have our plans for Friday." She watched his eyes scan the parchment before he nodded and returned it to her. And then she pointed at the binder she had fallen asleep over. "There's also this. We need to go over some things—"

"Hold on," he said, a look of incredulity crossing his features, "When exactly did you do that?"

"Last night, obviously," she said curtly. "Now, like I said—"

" _Why_?" He swept over and picked it up, still staring at it like he couldn't believe his eyes. "What in the name of Merlin? This is _heavy_."

She sniffed and tossed some hair over her shoulder. "It outlines a plan and some details we both will need to know to make this convincing, Malfoy. I already have it memorized, so you'll have to take it with you and look over it before Friday."

He had already opened to the first page and was scanning it, and then he gave a derisive snort. "You're giving me homework? This is insane, Granger."

"We have to have our story straight, Malfoy!" she argued. "And seem like a couple! This information will help."

"It's not difficult to have our story straight," he said, rolling his eyes. "And I certainly don't need all this."

"Oh?" She crossed her arms. "So how would you do it?"

"Answer questions as they come up."

"What if they ask how we got together?"

"One of us answers and the other goes with it. And let's be honest, it'll probably be me providing answers, because I clearly will be more relaxed than you." He threw her a vicious grin, and she bristled.

"You can't be _too_ relaxed!" she snapped. "What if we get asked separately?"

He sighed. "What would your logical answer be?"

"Spending time together at the charity," she said stoutly. "As it says on page 3."

"So it does," he said, flicking to it and chuckling. "What's this? _Rules_? Rule number one: no references to our sex life. Rule number two: no goading Ron." He gaped at her. "Come now, Granger, how else will I get through the weekend?" His eyes glinted with mischief.

She glared at him. "Malfoy, for fuck's sake, this is not about you and your dislike of Ron! Which, by the way, I don't quite understand, seeing as you're on perfectly normal terms with Harry and Ginny by now..."

He ignored this. "I would have said the charity too. See? No big deal. All we have to do is use the details that are already there and tweak them to be romantic. _This_ ," he gestured to the binder, "is the work of someone who needs a serious Calming Draught."

She wrung her hands together, biting her lip. "But if they figure it out—"

"You _really_ think their first instinct when they see me will be to assume we have an elaborate scheme to boost my popularity and cover the fact that you lied to not seem single to your ex? You don't think they'll actually just assume we are a real couple?"

"Well I..." She fumbled, and a wave of exhaustion suddenly overcame her. She was _so_ glad she didn't have to go into work until this afternoon.

He sighed, a crease appearing on his forehead. "It will be fine, Granger."

"There's one more thing." She threw him an anxious look again.

"What is it?"

"I think I should...tell Ron. Before showing up there, you know. He can tell the others in case I don't have time this week and it won't be such a shock if the two of us are suddenly waltzing in together. I think the idea of you and I will be...quite unexpected."

"If you think so," he said, his eyes suddenly rather withdrawn and flinty.

She was about to open her mouth and ask him to please just take the bloody binder when again, the sound of flames whooshing into the fireplace filled the room. Surprised, Hermione turned to see who was calling this time.

Ron's freckled face appeared, looking ready to call her name but stopping abruptly when he saw that she was already in the living room. He seemed about to smile; and then he registered Malfoy, who was smoothly shutting the binder and straightening his spine to stand taller, though Hermione thought she may have detected the slightest bit of tension around his shoulders.

 _What timing_ , thought Hermione crossly. _Well, might as well get this over with._

"What are you doing here?" Ron demanded, his blue eyes narrowed at Malfoy very suspiciously.

Instead of answering, Malfoy turned to Hermione and gave her a knowing grin. "Yes, Granger, what am I doing here?"

Resigning herself to the dreadful task ahead, Hermione sighed. "He's—we're going over some...work things. But there's actually..." She glanced at Malfoy, who watching her with heavy amusement. Hermione tilted her chin up and turned back to Ron. "There's actually something I need to tell you, Ron. Um..." She faltered, trying to decide how to best phrase it.

"She's trying to say that we'll all be spending quality time together in France this weekend, Weasley," said Malfoy smugly.

Ron blinked once. Twice. And then—

" _WHAT_?"

"Honestly Ronald," said Hermione quickly, "Let's not make this difficult—"

"You've been seeing _Malfoy_?"

"That's right, Weasley," drawled Malfoy, drawing himself up even taller and his eyes glittering malevolently. "Bothered?"

"Mal— _Draco_ , stop it!" Hermione snapped, rounding on him. "He is my _friend_ , and I want you to treat him nicely!”

She expected him to have some kind of retort.

But to her surprise Malfoy just pursed his lips and nodded briefly before turning back to look at Ron with an icy gaze.

“How long?” demanded Ron.

Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose and let out a heavy sigh, squeezing her eyes shut a moment. “About a month.”

“Hermione, he’s a Death Eater–”

“Was,” corrected Malfoy roughly.

“And he’s awful, he’s not good enough for you–”

“I’m in the room,” Malfoy snapped.

“Just be quiet, both of you,” said Hermione, thoroughly exasperated. “Ronald, do you really think I would be with someone who mistreats me? I am perfectly capable of choosing a partner. And don’t call him awful. You hardly know him anymore.”

“But–”

“It seems you two have much to discuss,” Malfoy cut in, his voice dry and irritated. “If Weasley comes through, I can be on my way and leave you to it. My mother is expecting me for morning tea anyway.”

Immediately Ron’s head disappeared and he was coming through the fireplace, clearly eager to get rid of Malfoy.

“Thank you,” Hermione whispered to Malfoy, giving him a grateful look.

He just gave her a small, strained smile and then crossed the room to leave through the fireplace where Ron had just come in. The two men were sure to throw each other death glares as they passed, and then Malfoy stepped in, threw down some Floo Powder, said “ _Malfoy_ _Manor_!”, and disappeared in a roar of green flames.

There was a long, strained silence as Hermione and Ron stared at each other.

“I wanted to tell you without him present,” said Hermione finally.

“I can’t believe this,” said Ron, shaking his head. “Hermione, have you lost your mind? We’re talking about _Malfoy_ here.”

“I am perfectly aware of who we’re talking about and I do know him better than you, Ronald, seeing as I’m the one who has spent the most time with him at the charities,” she said. “It has been years since Hogwarts and he is different. It would be nice if you trusted my judgment and didn’t belittle my choices.”

He gaped, mouth opening and closing soundlessly for a moment before he swallowed hard. “I don’t want to belittle you,” he muttered. “I’m just worried, that's all.”

“No need,” she said, gentler now. “He treats me perfectly well and I...I really like him, Ron. So I want us all to get along and have a nice weekend, all right?”

He heaved a deep sigh. “I still can’t believe this, but if he really makes you happy I promise I’ll...try. Does Harry know?”

“Not yet. Like I said, it was a...secret until now. No one knows except you.”

“Are you going to tell him before the weekend? He and Gin are coming.”

“Oh.” Of course, they hadn’t invited her because they had thought she was single and it was a couple’s retreat. And she _had_ been attending less Weasley dinners or pub nights with her friends lately. She knew it wasn’t malicious, but she found that it still hurt, just a little. “Well, I suppose I can. You can also mention it to him if you see him. Harry and Malfoy get along now, so I was more concerned about telling you before the weekend.” Suddenly, her tone got cold. “Because it’s polite to give warning, I think.”

Ron looked sheepish again, just as he had the night before, and his eyes became earnest. “That’s why I was coming here this morning in the first place,” he rushed to say. “I wanted to apologize for–for springing Gabrielle on you like that. It wasn’t my intention to make you uncomfortable, Hermione. I know us breaking up was hard–”

“It’s fine, Ron,” she sighed, cutting him off. She did not want to discuss this again. The tone of the conversation always suggested he thought she was having a harder time with it than she was, and she resented that. “It would have been nice to know, but you know that I’m happy for you. Gabrielle is very lovely.”

He gave her a huge, lopsided grin.

That grin used to make her heart flutter. It didn’t do that anymore, but it did make her chest tighten a little.

She should have made more of an effort with her friends the past couple of months. Even under the strange circumstances, it would be nice to spend a weekend with them. Apparently, Ron was thinking along the same lines, because before she knew it, he had bound forward and swept her into a bone-crushing hug. “I’m glad you’re coming this weekend, Hermione,” he told her sincerely. “Even if you’re bringing Malfoy. I’ve missed seeing you around. You work too much.”

The tightening in her chest increased. “Who else will be there?” she asked, her voice muffled into his chest.

He pulled away and smiled at her. “Well, I’m told some of Gabrielle’s friends in France may come visit the chateau, but the only other couple coming is Luna and her boyfriend. Ginny wanted Luna to come. Apparently she’s seeing Theodore Nott, so I guess Malfoy won’t be the only Slytherin.” He suddenly looked as if he had eaten something sour, but he didn’t comment further.

“Oh.” Hermione mulled this information over. “Do you know him?”

“Not yet. So it’ll be an interesting weekend, at any rate.” His gaze swept over her face again, very carefully. “You’re _sure_ Malfoy is good to you?”

She fought a smile, half exasperated and half affectionate. “Yes, Ron. He likes to tease, but he’s...” She trailed off, thinking of how he helped at the charity, how he had helped her the night before with donations, and how he had willingly stopped arguing with Ron this morning when she had asked. Not to mention that he was participating in this fake dating scheme at all, even if he had his own motives for doing so. “He’s clever, and he’s there for me if I need him,“ she told him sincerely. “I can tell he cares about the work we do together at the charities to make things better, even though he could just throw money at the problems. He’s a different man now, and I also...trust him.”

She tried not to think too deeply about the fact that everything she had just said was true.

What was it Malfoy had said?

_Take details that are already there and make them romantic._

“Be careful,” Ron warned, and when she narrowed her eyes playfully at him he chuckled and held up his hands. “All right, all right! No more cautioning, Hermione, I promise.”

* * *

The rest of the week passed in a strange sort of blur.

She had correspondence with Harry, but they were too busy to see each other in person. Needless to say Ron had told him about Malfoy, and the tone of Harry’s letters regarding her supposed relationship with him was much the same as Ron’s, though toned down considerably. Cautioning her to be careful. Wanting assurance Malfoy was good to her. Telling her they wanted her to be happy.

Hermione was glad things had gone better than she’d thought in that regard. Now she just had a weekend consistently in other people’s company to get through, and–as she had meticulously outlined in her binder–six more weeks after their return where she and Malfoy would go on public dates together, and afterward things would “end”, she and Malfoy could end the farce, and everything could go back to normal.

When she arrived at the Ministry, Malfoy– _Draco_ , she reminded herself in her head, as per rule number five in her binder (Try and refer to each other by given names)–was already waiting.

He looked–loathe as she was to admit it– _very_ good. This was not exactly new information to her, but again, she now found that her traitorous mind was still wondering what it would be like to kiss him.

“How are Weaselbee’s panties?” he drawled. “Did you get them out of their bunch?”

“He said he won’t be difficult, but it would make it much easier if _you_ are also not difficult,” said Hermione, throwing him a pointed look.

His eyes glittered. “I’ll behave, Granger.”

“Did you read through the binder?” she pressed, as they got in line together.

“Ah, yes. Let me correct myself. I’ll behave, _Hermione_.”

A shiver went up her spine when he said her name.

It was very unwelcome and she tried to ignore it, but the fact that the intent light was back in his eyes didn’t help.

She cleared her throat. “So you did read it, then?”

He rolled his eyes, though his mouth quirked up into a sideways grin. “Yes, Gr–Hermione. I read it. And while I still maintain that it was the work of a crazy person with clear micromanaging tendencies, something I suppose I should have predicted from the charity work–” She made an indignant noise of protest in her throat, but he continued over her, “–I must say I am impressed with how incredibly thorough you are.”

She looked up at him, surprised at the compliment. “Really?”

“Oh yes. I, for instance, never thought there would come a day when I would be told all of your food allergies and how you discovered them–in great and painful detail, I might add–but I stand corrected.”

“It might come up in conversation!” she argued, frowning, though she felt her cheeks heat.

“You told Weasley we’ve only been seeing each other for about a month,” he reminded her. “So if I don’t know every detail of your life it isn’t suspicious. You being in a state of high agitation constantly? _That_ is suspicious. Just act natural.”

“Nothing about this is natural!”

He reached out a hand and took one her right one, slowly lacing his fingers through hers and tugging her closer to him. “Then I suggest we start adjusting now,” he murmured into her ear, pulling her forward in line. His voice had become silky, and her heart did the smallest of flutters.

“You’re right,” she said finally, and then looked up at him. “Kiss me.”

 _Should probably get it over with before we get there_ , she thought. _It’s smarter._

She had caught him by surprise.

Hermione saw it on his face, very briefly, before he reacted. But when he did, he didn’t waste any time obeying her command. He spun toward her, took her face in both of his hands, tilted her chin up, and almost roughly brought her mouth to his.

Again, it surprised her how warm he was. His lips were soft and she was suddenly overwhelmed with his smell, a vague, masculine scent of cedar and pine. Heat flared into what felt like every inch of her skin; she automatically placed her hands on his chest to steady herself and her pulse kicked into overdrive when he tilted his head and kissed her deeper, his mouth insistent and yet somehow also gentle on hers.

When he pulled away, she found that she needed a moment to catch her breath. Her eyes fluttered open and his were still hovering close, warm like molten silver and the pupils larger than usual, black obscuring his usual gray.

“That natural enough for you, Granger?” he murmured, a smile dancing across his lips.

“Hermione,” she corrected, because she could not think of a single other thing to say. She had kissed Draco Malfoy, really kissed him. She had known it would happen once they had decided on this mad deal of theirs, but she had not been prepared for him to be _far too good and it_ and for it to feel anything _but_ unnatural. She had the strangest sensation that her brain had gone numb.

“Hermione,” he repeated quietly. He still had not released her face.

A sharp, angry voice sounded from behind them.

“Oi! Lovebirds! The line has long moved!”

Hermione jolted and turned her gaze from Malfoy’s to see the people behind them in line looking irritated and pointing the other direction. And indeed, Hermione saw that there was a large space between her and Malfoy and the people in front of them.

She flushed. For a few moments she had completely forgotten where they were.

Malfoy, however, seemed as nonchalant as ever.

He merely took her hand in his again and strolled forward in the line, throwing her a self-assured grin when they stopped again.

 _Relax_ , Hermione told herself, swallowing hard and trying to focus on slowing her heart rate. _Good snogging means it will be_ _more convincing_ _for the others_ _._ _Scientifically speaking_ _it’s just good chemistry. W_ _ithout good chemistry we wouldn’t be able to do this_ _well_ _. So it’s_ _a good thing._

_Good. Helpful. That’s all._


	3. Friday, Pt. 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! The feedback and love has been very kind and encouraging :)

As soon as they landed at their destination by Portkey, it became obvious that they were going to be having quite the lavish weekend.

The chateau was looming nearby, a gigantic, towering masterpiece of a building against a blue sky. They had landed outside a large, wrought-iron gate, and Hermione knew, as per the instructions that Gabrielle had sent her, that their arrival would be detected and someone would be here to greet them in a few moments and lead them inside.

The view was incredible. There were countless flowers and trees dotted across the expansive grounds, and Hermione detected the faint smell of salt in the air. She took a deep breath in, completely relaxed for a long moment, a small smile on her face as she thought of being near the sea; of seeing the waves and feeling her feet in the sand and inhaling the coastal air for a whole weekend.

“I had no idea the Delacours were this wealthy,” commented Malfoy mildly. His gray eyes were moving around the estate with some curiosity, his hands stuffed casually in his trouser pockets. Hermione cursed him for looking so appealing, and cursed herself for noticing.

“Gabrielle is very successful, I was told,” said Hermione.

“Hermione! Oh my god!”

Ginny was rushing up the path, and when Hermione looked over and caught sight of her the youngest Weasley held up her hand and waved excitedly, her face split into a huge smile. She wrenched the gate open and stepped out, throwing her arms around Hermione in a tight hug. “I’m so glad you’re here!”

Hermione just laughed. “Me too.”

When Ginny pulled away from the hug, her brown eyes darted over and looked Malfoy up and down before she gave a careful nod. “Malfoy,” she greeted. There wasn’t hostility as there was with Ron. In the past half year, Hermione hadn’t seen _too_ much of Ginny, seeing as they were both quite busy with work, but Ginny had made a point of stopping by charity events when she was in England and not traveling for Quidditch.

Malfoy’s mouth twitched. “Weasley. Congratulations on the big win last weekend.”

That seemed to be the perfect thing to say, because Ginny beamed. “Thanks! Now come on, you two, Gabrielle is making cocktails and they’re amazing. She could be a bartender.” Ginny jerked her head back toward the chateau, and after they stepped inside the gate, their bags levitating along with them, Ginny waved her wand and it closed with a sharp clang.

As they continued along the path, Malfoy slipped his hand into Hermione’s again, lacing his fingers through hers. She glanced at him; he was peering casually about the grounds, but upon feeling her gaze on him he just gave her a crooked smile.

“I have to say, at first I thought they were making a joke about you and Malfoy, Hermione,” commented Ginny.

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Charming.”

“Well come on, you have to admit it’s surprising,” said Ginny. “But when Ron was telling us I realized there was no way he was joking. I figured he’s not _that_ good an actor. And then I got to thinking about the last few times I’d stopped by the charity events, and I realized it actually wasn’t so out there.” She shot them both a wicked grin. “All that sexual tension I’ve picked up on the past few months makes much more sense now, at any rate.”

“What?” Hermione gasped.

Malfoy squeezed her fingers in warning before he stepped closer, smoothly tucked an arm around her so she was snug in his side as they walked, and said in a casual drawl, “Well, you noticed it earlier than she did, it seems. For someone so brilliant I was astounded by how surprisingly oblivious Hermione is when someone is trying to seduce her.”

The heavy amusement in his voice made her flush, and she found herself bristling in irritation. So he was going to have a go at her ability to date, was he?

To her dismay, Ginny snorted. “That’s _true_ , isn’t it? Remember that night we went out, Hermione? About a month after you and Ron broke up? And that one guy–”

“Ugh,” said Hermione. “No. Please don’t talk about that.”

“Oh no, please do,” said Malfoy, eyes glinting at her.

She narrowed her eyes at him and then threw Ginny a pleading look, and the redhead grinned and mimed locking her mouth with a key and tossing it away.

“I suppose that it was just extra surprising with you, _darling_ ,” said Hermione to Malfoy in a sickly sweet voice that bordered on openly sarcastic, and he hastily turned away, successfully disguising his low laugh as a cough. “Since I’d spent so many years thinking I disgusted you, it simply didn’t cross my mind earlier that you were after me.”

Malfoy glanced at her, more somber now. There was a thoughtful crease on his forehead.

But then his eyes darkened. It sent another shiver up her spine. “Well,” he murmured, purposefully dragging his eyes up and down her, “I have some years to make up for, it’s true. I intend to use them by continuing to show you just how _very_ appealing I find you.”

Hermione’s pulse quickened despite herself.

 _Look away from his mouth_ , Hermione chanted inwardly.

But she couldn’t quite seem to do it. Not for a few seconds, at least. Her brain was lagging. His lips were such a nice shape. His mouth was so interesting. So expressive.

And so very talented at snogging her.

She felt her cheeks get warm and looked away.

Okay, so it had been a while since her last tumble in the sheets. Four months, to be precise.

Maybe she should have sought out company in the bedroom before this weekend so she wouldn’t be as affected by the comments Malfoy made or the actions he took while posing as her boyfriend. That would have been the logical thing to do.

And here she thought she’d planned for all eventualities.

“Oh, right. You two are only a month in to this thing.” Ginny wrinkled her nose. “So we’ll be dealing with these ‘fuck me’ eyes all weekend, won’t we?”

Malfoy’s head buried into her hair. She could feel his laugh. “We’ll try and behave, Weasley.”

Hermione rapidly found herself wondering if she would, in fact, be able to do this the entire weekend. Studying her binder wasn’t going to help her with _this_.

Hermione was momentarily distracted from her irritation with both Malfoy and herself, however, by the sight of a red, open air sports car parked in the gigantic driveway. Ginny saw her pausing to look and smiled. “I’m told it’s a classic style.”

“It’s gorgeous,” said Hermione, unable to keep the admiration out of her voice.

“It’s Gabrielle’s. Though I think Ron uses it more.”

Hermione laughed. “Ron barely passed the exam for his license. I hope he’s better at driving now. For the sake of the car and Gabrielle.”

“I’m sorry,” Malfoy cut in dryly, “But Weasley can drive a Muggle contraption?”

“Barely,” said Hermione.

“He’s gotten much better, to be fair,” said Ginny, laughing. “I no longer fear for my life when he drives. Though I still prefer if Harry does it.” She grinned. “I’m sure he’ll be eager to take you for a drive and show it off. There’s a little seaside town nearby we went to earlier today.”

“Can you drive, Granger?”

Hermione glanced at him in surprise. “Of course I can, M–Draco.”

His gray eyes moved back to the car, and there was no denying the interest in them as he examined it. Ginny must have seen it too, because she nudged Hermione. “It looks like you’re going to have to let your boyfriend try driving, Hermione.”

Malfoy looked over and raised an amused eyebrow at Hermione, looking expectant, and she sighed. “That sounds terrifying, but if Gabrielle agrees then I suppose I can take you, Draco. Consider it my thank you for managing the donations this week.”

To her surprise, he leaned forward and kissed her. It was just a quick peck on the lips and she should have known to expect it, but she hadn’t and it flustered her. Especially when he gave her a dazzling smile after. “I love you,” he murmured, and Hermione was glad when Ginny gestured them toward the front door before she could answer.

She should have made a rule about saying that. It was only supposed to be a month in.

“Hermione!” She heard Harry’s voice before she saw him. She had been rather preoccupied with staring in awe at the grandiose parlor they had entered, but then there was a flash of unruly black hair and he was wrapping her in a hug.

“’ermione eez here!” It was undeniably Gabrielle, and as soon as Harry was done hugging her, she had taken his place and was squeezing Hermione so hard that she could hardly breathe. Without hesitation, she also turned to Malfoy and swept him into a hug; Hermione wanted to laugh for a moment at the vaguely uncomfortable look on his face. Something told her that the Malfoys did not greet people that they hardly knew with hugs. Or perhaps anyone.

“Malfoy,” said Harry, nodding and holding out his hand, which Malfoy shook cautiously. Harry was looking him up and down, his stare more challenging than usual. “Since we’re not mortal enemies anymore and Hermione seems to like you I won’t threaten to harm you right now, but it should go without saying that if you hurt her–”

“Harry,” Hermione groaned, cutting him off.

“Yes, Harry, they just got here. At least let Malfoy drop off his bags before you flood him with warnings about his relationship with Hermione,” said Ginny, patting his shoulder.

“No warnings,” said Hermione, exasperated. “I am a grown woman, Harry. Please.”

Harry’s eyes lingered on Malfoy for a moment; Malfoy just stared back with some defiance.

Gabrielle broke the moment by waving her wand and shoving the glasses she had caught into Malfoy and Hermione’s hands. “’ere! Zeese are special cocktails I ‘ave made. Zey are amazing. But strong. Drink zem slowly. Come weez me! I will show you to your room.”

Somehow, Hermione felt more nervous at the prospect of actually seeing the room and the bed she was supposed to share with Malfoy. It was, like kissing him, one of those things she had known was going to happen, but knowing in advance apparently did not prepare her for much.

As they walked, she eyed the dark green cocktail in her hand, complete with a colorful straw and a frilly umbrella. Malfoy had already taken a long sip, and his expression transformed into something like bliss. “Wow,” he said, staring at the glass in his hand for a moment before looking at Gabrielle, “You said it’s strong? I hardly taste the alcohol. This is amazing.”

“I didn’t know you liked cocktails,” said Hermione, grinning at him. “Thought you were a whiskey man. A very snobby whiskey man that always makes aristocratic comments about drops of spring water activating the flavor, or something equally ridiculous–”

“Um, excuse me G– _Hermione_ , but three drops of spring water _does_ activate the taste in a good whiskey–” He nudged her shoulder with his when she rolled her eyes at him. “–but I do also like cocktails. Especially this one. What’s in this?”

“Ahh, eet eez a secret of mine!” said Gabrielle, throwing him a smile and fluttering her lashes. Hermione was quite sure that was just how Gabrielle talked to anyone, but for some reason she suddenly found that she wanted to throw something.

The room she led them to was spacious, bright, and decorated so tastefully that Hermione wondered if an interior designer had been hired for this place. Just the bit of the chateau from what she’d seen walking here had been positively stunning. Either a professional was involved or Gabrielle _also_ had an unnatural talent for interior design on top of everything else.

“Eez eet to your liking?” asked Gabrielle hopefully.

“It’s wonderful,” said Hermione.

“I will let you arrange your bags een peace. You can find the way back to zee parlor? From zere, zere eez a door to zee left of the front door leading to a sitting room, where we are drinking zee cocktails. See you soon!”

Malfoy flicked his wand and their trunks flew to the other side of the room, nestling below the window, which overlooked the grounds to the chateau. He eyed her with amusement. “Not going to try the cocktail, Granger?”

She glanced at it dubiously. “You know how alcohol affects me.”

He let out a soft chuckle. “As she said, just drink it slowly.”

“I don’t usually like cocktails.”

“You’ll like this one. Try it.”

Hermione scowled and then put her mouth on the straw and took a tentative sip. She blinked and her eyes widened. “Oh, fuck,” she said. “That is amazing.”

Malfoy looked smug. “I told you.”

She took another long drink. “Oh my god.”

“Slow down,” he said, eyes glittering. “Do you need to change, or…?”

“Oh. Um, no. Do you?”

He shook his head, and then he held out his arm, taking a casual sip of his cocktail. “Then let’s go down, Granger. I’m sure everyone’s dying to see you and will not want to miss the opportunity to fantasize about strangling me.”

Hermione couldn’t help but giggle as he led her out into the corridor. She hoped he would lead the way, because she hadn’t been paying much attention. Besides, the prat had loads more practice navigating his way through abnormally large living quarters than she did. “You’ve gotten Harry and Ron out of the way. Theodore Nott isn’t going to–”

“Wait. Theo will be here?” His eyes brightened considerably.

“Oh. Yes. Sorry, I should have mentioned that. Are you friends?” She found herself unnecessarily pleased. Then again, she didn’t want to wish a terrible weekend on Malfoy, so she supposed she was just happy he would have someone he’d like to talk to.

“We’re friendly,” he said. “Who is he here with?”

“Luna, apparently.”

“ _Lovegood_?” He looked astounded, but then thoughtful as he took another drink of his cocktail. “You know, that makes a strange amount of sense, actually.”

“Does it? Why?” Hermione glanced up at him curiously.

“I don’t know. Theodore’s mother was very eccentric, and he lost her at a young age. And he had to live alone with his father, who was a right arsehole.”

“How very Freudian of you,” said Hermione, wrinkling her nose. “So by that logic, you’d also go for women that are like your mother? Blonde and aristocratic?”

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “I meant that he and Lovegood both lost their mother around the same age, and both of them witnessed it, Granger,” he said snidely. “I was not suggesting that men subconsciously want to fuck their mothers.”

“Oh,” said Hermione, blinking in surprise. “Well–”

“And for the record,” continued Malfoy, “I do not want a blonde and aristocratic woman.”

“Really?” There was currently a strange sensation in her chest that she didn’t know how to identify. She took a sip of her cocktail instead of examining it further.

His mouth quirked up as he shot her a sidelong glance. “Interested in my love life, Granger?”

“While I’m sure it’s riveting, I don’t fancy hearing about it, no,” said Hermione, nettled.

“Not as riveting as that story you stopped Weasley from telling me, I’m sure,” said Malfoy, grinning. Hermione just shot him a warning look.

When they entered the sitting room (which, as Hermione was beginning to suspect was the case for every room in this place, looked like it came straight out of one of those tours of the summer residences of nobility), everyone looked up.

There were exclamations of greeting. Hermione was instantly pulled over by Gabrielle toward her, Ron, and Harry, while Malfoy drifted over to greet Theodore Nott, who was standing talking to Ginny and Luna with the latter nestled close to his side. Luna was giving Hermione a dreamy, vague smile and a wave, which Hermione returned. Nott and Ginny seemed to be in a deep discussion about something very animated, because they were waving around their arms and gesturing so violently that Hermione feared they might spill their drinks. Nott did, however, pause to nod politely at Hermione, and when he saw Malfoy sidle over to greet him he looked genuinely pleased to see him.

"What do you think of the place, Hermione?" Ron asked, grinning.

"It doesn't feel real, to be honest," she said.

"That's what I said," said Harry. "Did you see the car?"

Hermione laughed. "I'm not sure how I could have missed it. Draco wants to have a drive, you know."

She glanced over to see Malfoy already peeking at her from across the room, perhaps having heard his name. He sent her a smile before moving his attention back to the others; when she turned back, Ron and Harry were watching her warily. "You really like him," said Ron. His eyes held some displeasure, but his voice was astoundingly neutral.

"Yes," she said, taking a drink.

"Of course your lover can take zee car!" said Gabrielle.

"He's never driven before," warned Hermione. "Though if things go badly I can always use magic to–"

"Eet will be fine," said Gabrielle, waving an unconcerned hand. "Eef Ronald could learn, so can he."

"What does that mean?" Ron asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh, Ronald," she said affectionately. "Darling, you must know that you were an absolutely 'orrible driver at zee beginning."

Hermione snorted into her drink. Gabrielle's unwavering honesty was very funny when directed at others.

She leaned toward Harry and murmured under her breath, "What's Nott like?"

"Seems like a good bloke," he replied. "Hasn't been here much longer than you though."

It wasn't long before the others gravitated towards them, forming one large group. Malfoy slung an arm around Hermione's shoulders. She stepped closer into his side and tried to look as if this were a common occurance and that she belonged there.

“So I think we’re all curious about how _this_ –” Nott gestured between Hermione and Malfoy, looking amused, “–came into existence.”

“Isn’t it obvious?” said Luna, putting her hand on his arm and giving Nott an adoring, whimsical smile. “Their auras match perfectly. Can’t you sense it?”

Ron caught Hermione’s eye just before she aggressively rolled her eyes; he was clearly stifling a laugh at her expression. She was, thankfully, able to compose herself from making a snippy comment.

“No one senses things quite like you can, love,” said Theo affectionately, patting her hand. “I meant more in the practical sense.” He looked up questioningly, his gaze mostly fixed on Malfoy for an explanation.

Hermione was all too happy to let him handle it.

Malfoy just shrugged. “We’ve been doing charity work together the past two years. I suppose it just…crept up on us.” He shot Hermione the same dazzling smile as earlier, out by the car. She almost dropped her cocktail. It was so _sincere_. He was unnervingly good at this.

It was his eyes, she realized.

He was able to look at her as though she were the center of his universe.

“Ah, ‘ow I love romance!” sighed Gabrielle, staring at them dreamily.

Hermione just gave her a coy smile and took a long sip of her drink as Malfoy kissed the top of her head.


	4. Friday, Pt. 2

Hermione had gathered that Ginny and Harry had gotten here this morning and that they and Ron and Gabrielle had spent a long day in the sun at the beach and in the seaside town. Theo and Luna had worked and traveled here today just as she and Malfoy had, so it was decided that they would all have a movie night rather than do anything involving too much activity.

“What exactly does this entail?” asked Theodore Nott, his hand tucked comfortably in Luna’s as Gabrielle led them all up various flights of seemingly never-ending stairs.

“Movies and television shows are a Muggle art form,” explained Ginny. “Harry got me hooked on that shit forever ago. They’re like moving pictures.”

“We already have moving pictures.” Malfoy didn’t sound dismissive—just bewildered.

“Not like those,” explained Hermione patiently. “It’s like watching people. The cameras capture someone and you can play it back. And they add special effects and other things and—and really, it’s easier if you see for yourself.”

“You two are going to get addicted,” said Ginny to Nott and Malfoy, already looking smug. “That’s a promise. I’ll also have to show you sports sometime this weekend. It’s fucking wild.” She was grinning. “So which movies are we watching, Gabrielle?”

“A French movie first,” Gabrielle replied. “Eet eez a ‘orror threeler. Perfect to watch weez a lover. After zat, per’aps somezing more lighthearted?”

“Sounds good, love,” said Ron, throwing his arm around her shoulders just as she pushed open the door to reveal a gigantic screening room. Rather than single chairs, however, there were plush couches sprinkled about, all facing the wall-sized screen.

“Wow,” said Hermione, shaking her head.

“Eet eez wonderful, no?” said Gabrielle, beaming.

The pairs began settling into various couches, each on their own.

Hermione realized what this meant in regards to Malfoy and her heart promptly began to beat so fast she thought it might explode. Sure enough, he strolled over and chose a couch toward the center and then sat, lounging across it as if he had always belonged there.

 _Git_ , she thought, but with no real malice. And then he looked at her, patted the space in front of him, and opened his arms invitingly with a crooked grin.

She gave him an adoring smile in return for whoever might be watching and then sat down in front of him, curling back into his chest and fitting right under his chin. His arms came around her, pulling her as close as possible, into a cuddle that was undeniably comfortable and warm and more than a little intoxicating. Even more so than that cocktail she had finished earlier.

One of Malfoy’s hands began moving in her hair—flattening it under his chin, taming it so that he could actually see the screen, she realized—and she stiffened, feeling a wave of insecurity.

Perhaps he had felt her tense. Maybe not. Either way he murmured, just loud enough for his voice to carry slightly, “You have the most beautiful hair.”

“Th–thank you,” she replied, feeling very warm now indeed and hating herself for it.

 _It’s fake_ , she chastised. _He has to say these things._

His hands stayed in her hair, his fingers stroking through it or curling strands of it, as the opening credits of the movie began to roll and well into the first ten minutes. And then he dropped it to hold her waist instead, fingers splayed lightly across her stomach.

He must have some idea of the effect he was having. Right?

Perhaps not.

He was always so irritatingly casual about everything.

As the movie continued, she found herself wanting to watch his facial expressions. This was, after all, the first time that he had ever seen a movie. She could feel him tensing or his breath catching in reaction to scenes. About halfway through the movie, the main character moved a mirror slightly to reveal the killer in her house, though she was still unaware of his presence. Malfoy jumped, his arms automatically tightening their hold around her, and Hermione couldn’t help but giggle and move her hands to rest them on his forearms, absentmindedly rubbing them up and down to soothe him.

“Merlin,” he muttered in her ear.

“Common horror movie trick,” she explained in a whisper. “Using a mirror. Also, if a female character is in the shower, you know she’s done for.”

“That is fucked.” He sounded rather awed.

“Makes sense, doesn’t it? Horror movies play on all our human fears, and there is nothing more vulnerable than being attacked while naked, is there? Of course, there’s other forms of horror movies, and each one plays on different inherent fears. Films that involve exorcism, for example, like demons possessing people, are really about people’s fear of losing control—”

“Hermione.” He chuckled in her ear, and then brushed her hair aside to place a kiss on the side of her neck. Electricity shot through her spine and all the way to the tips of her toes.

“Sorry,” she mumbled. “I’m ruining it, aren’t I?”

“I do enjoy hearing your thoughts,” he murmured. He was still so close to her that his lips moved faintly across her neck with each word. _Oh my god_. Hermione fought not to squirm against him. “Tell me later. It’s just that at the moment I want to watch it with you.”

“Of course,” she whispered, feeling horribly embarrassed. “It’s your first time with a movie and here I am talking, and—” She clamped her mouth shut again.

Malfoy chuckled once more and pulled her tighter against him, resting his chin on the top of her head. Hermione wished that she could say she was able to concentrate on the movie, but she only could do so in increments. Every time Malfoy shifted behind her or moved his hands in some way, her awareness flew to him and her heart shot into her throat.

She found herself noticing things that she shouldn’t. That, for example, she could feel that his abdomen was hard and lean under that shirt. Or that he smelled amazing.

When the movie ended, everyone briefly sat up and discussed it for a few moments, going over certain scenes, getting opinions from Nott and Malfoy in particular, and then Gabrielle was already putting the next movie in.

This one was a romance, and Malfoy’s reactions were more subdued. He wasn’t jumping or shifting in response to shocking scenes. He did, however, begin playing with her hair again for a few minutes about twenty minutes in. After that he moved his hands down to her shoulders and began kneading out the dreadful knots of tension that were there.

“ _Oh_ ,” she whispered, hoping it wasn’t too much of a moan.

His laugh once again ghosted in her ear. “Relax,” he breathed, his fingers moving like magic across her shoulders. She let her head fall back and concentrated only on not making strangled sounds of delight at the massage that could alarm the others.

“Thank you,” she said quietly, when his fingers stopped moving. Her entire body felt so much lighter than before, and she let out a content sigh.

His fingers caught her chin, turned her head, and he shifted forward to kiss her.

Logically, Hermione knew they were in the center of the room and this was for the benefit of the others, but she still found herself wishing it would last longer. It was brief and gentle, and she felt his crooked smile before he leaned back again, pulling her once more against his chest.

When this movie was over, it was proposed that they all go to bed. Everyone’s eyes were sleepier after being inactive on couches for so long. Luna had even fallen fast asleep on Nott’s shoulder, and when he carefully picked her up to take her back to their room she didn’t stir. The group began to file out with much less chatter than when they had entered but with a happy air about them. Malfoy still kept an arm around Hermione until they were out in the corridor, when she slipped away and said, “I’ll pop down to the kitchen, actually, if that’s all right.”

“Should I come?” Malfoy was looking at her intently.

“No, love—” His eyes flickered, and she stumbled for a moment on the sentence. Maybe she shouldn’t have used the term of endearment. “Go on back to the room. I’ll be there soon. I just need a small snack and some water. I’m parched.” She smiled.

“Help yourself to anything you see in the pantry, Hermione,” said Ron, yawning sleepily. “Unless you’d like Gabrielle and I to come and show you around?”

“No, I saw everything earlier, I’ll be fine,” said Hermione quickly. “Goodnight.”

She hurried off. Hermione was a bit hungry and she truly was thirsty, but she also needed some time alone to compose herself.

All this proximity to a human man was _clearly_ rather necessary, but the need was most unwelcome right at the moment.

Hermione was just returning from her foray into the kitchen when she heard raised voices coming from the corridor that contained her room. Two very familiar raised voices.

Her first instinct was to draw her wand and hurry around the corridor, because she feared Ron and Malfoy might hurt each other, but she didn’t even get her hand to her pocket before she heard her name.

She paused, knowing full well she probably shouldn’t eavesdrop—and listened harder.

“—take advantage of Hermione. It should go without saying that if you hurt her, I’ll dismember you and feed it to my owl, Malfoy.”

“That’s ironic coming from you, Weasley.” Malfoy’s voice was like ice.

“What does that mean?” Hermione heard Ron sputter indignantly.

“I watched as you slowly made her miserable,” Malfoy said sharply. “I’m sure you’re a perfectly nice bloke to people you like, and I’m not saying you did it on purpose. But you weren’t right for each other and for over a year I saw it making her unhappy. And then after you two broke things off it got even worse.”

Hermione’s worked to keep her jaw where it belonged and not hanging open. She knew that Malfoy was incredibly observant, but she hadn’t known just how much. Or had her misery over Ron been so obvious? She felt a wave of embarrassment.

He was also a very good actor. Scarily good.

She leaned forward a little to hear better, mouth suddenly very dry.

“That wasn’t my fault, and you know it,” growled Ron. “It wasn’t hers either. It just didn’t work out. I didn’t actively hurt her, Malfoy. Not like _you_ are capable of doing.”

Hermione hadn’t known it was possible, but Malfoy’s voice got even colder. Ice frozen on steel. “Nowadays I am just as incapable of hurting Hermione as you are. If you think that you are the only one that cares about her, Weasley, you are sorely mistaken.”

“Oh really? So what happens when mummy and daddy don’t like that you’re with her and you never win their approval?” asked Ron viciously. “You’re willing to break your Pureblood line for her? Suffer the displeasure of your family for her? Somehow I don’t believe it, Malfoy.”

“Well, fucking believe it,” snapped Malfoy.

There was a long, electric silence.

“Well,” muttered Ron, “I’ve said what I’ve needed to say.”

“Seems so,” said Malfoy. Hermione could practically hear his sneer.

“I’d really like to punch you, but she’d kill me and I promised her I’d try to get along with you. She’s too good for you, Malfoy,” Ron said, and Hermione had to lean forward more to hear him, for he had lowered his tone. “You sure as hell don’t deserve her.”

“You think I’m not painfully aware of that? Now go away.” Malfoy sounded contemptuous.

Hermione only heard Ron grumble something irritable in response and then the sound of approaching footsteps. Eyes widening, she retreated quickly down the corridor and ducked into a closet to hide from Ron passing.

Through the crack of the door, she saw that he looked furious and was storming down the corridor; she let out a relieved breath at not being caught eavesdropping. She waited a few more minutes before she slipped out and made her way to her and Malfoy’s room.

Hermione noted that he had clearly just showered. His hair was damp and hanging forward a bit into his eyes, and he was rummaging around in his suitcase, shirtless.

He always seemed so lean, but she hadn’t been wrong about the muscles she had felt during the movie. Well, he still was lean, but there was a certain amount of tone to him. She could also see faint scars across his torso that she knew were from sixth year; it only added to his appeal.

“Oh—sorry—” she began awkwardly, averting her eyes.

He looked up; she briefly saw an irritated expression that had been on his features fade away to be replaced with an eye roll. Before he could speak, there came a light knock on their bedroom door. They both sent each other looks and it was clear from their faces that neither of them had invited anyone here. Malfoy slipped on a shirt and strode over to the door to open it.

“’ello!” came Gabrielle’s cheery voice from the door. “I ‘ope I am not eenterupting. I know eet eez late. I weeshed to speak weez ‘ermione about somezing, but eet can wait until morning...”

“Hi Gabrielle,” said Hermione, and the French woman waved brightly over Malfoy’s shoulder. “You’re not interrupting. Come on in. Is everything okay?”

Malfoy stepped back and Gabrielle floated—there was no other way to describe how she moved—in to perch beside Hermione on the bed and smile at her. “Should I leave you two to chat?” asked Malfoy, eyes darting between them.

“Oh, no! Eet eez perfectly fine eef you are ‘ere.” She turned to fully face Hermione and took her hands in hers, squeezing affectionately. Gabrielle was a very touchy person; Hermione had known this before, but had _really_ noticed it at that charity event. Malfoy closed the door and moved slowly back over to his suitcase, though Hermione knew that he was listening carefully.

“I was concerned because of your ‘istory with Ronald that you might not want to come, ‘ermione, but I am so happy that you came weez your lover. You are a beautiful couple.” Gabrielle was beaming happily at her.

“Oh, Gabrielle-” Hermione was rather emotionally overwhelmed. “Ron and I was long ago. I’m very happy for you both, and it was so kind of you to invite us. This chateau is beautiful.”

“I also wanted to thank you for your work weez creatures,” said Gabrielle. “You may realize that theez issues weez Veela affect me greatly, because I weesh to move to England one day. I was chatting much weez your lover at the event when I donated to your charity. We spoke about the legal eessues and my weesh to move to your country.”

“Oh,” said Hermione, blinking. She sneaked a glance over at Malfoy. He had frozen in rummaging around in his suitcase, but he quickly resumed when her eyes slid to him.

“Yes,” said Gabrielle, nodding. “He was quite knowledgeable, but said he did not know zee laws as you did, so I wanted to ask you a question, eef that eez all right?”

“Of course,” answered Hermione. “That’s what we’re there for.”

“I understand zat zee laws are much stricter in England for people of my status. Here in France, only someone who eez a full Veela, such as my grandmuzzer, eez subject to certain laws. What are my restrictions eef I want to become a citizen here?”

“Well,” said Hermione, sighing. “The laws from our Ministry are quite archaic about this, unfortunately. The restrictions due to your – er – biological construct extend to someone who is even just one eighth Veela, as they still hold some of the particular...powers that Veela have. We’re trying to lobby and change that, of course, but it’s proven very difficult.”

Malfoy had stopped rummaging around in the suitcase and walked over to sit on Hermione’s other side, placing a hand casually on her knee. “What’s the issue exactly?”

It was Gabrielle who leaned forward to answer him. “Do you remember at the event? When you became a beet dazed when I first spoke to you?”

Hermione glanced sideways at him. She was feeling distinctly betrayed, though she wasn’t quite certain why. He just gave her a sheepish look. “Er...yes,” he muttered.

“Zat is my Veela biology. When I first speak weez a man I find attractive, I release special...pheromones.” She squeezed Hermione’s hands, “I ‘ave no control over zees part, and eef it makes you feel better, ‘ermione, zis happens to many men. I am a romantic. I find many people attractive. Also, you are more my type zan your lover.”

“Me?” said Hermione, surprised, as Malfoy choked on a laugh behind her.

Gabrielle smiled. “Oh yes. I do like women, but my Veela biology...how do I say? Well, eet eez only about making beautiful, magical babies, you see. Eet is not so...progressive. And our anatomy does not match for zis, so I do not daze you, even eef I am quite attracted to you.”

“I...didn’t know that part,” said Hermione, reeling from the fact that this beacon of physical perfection was attracted to her. Over _Malfoy_.

“Yes. Well, I ‘ave control over everyzing else. The daze only lasts a few moments when I am not doing eet on purpose, eet eez not exactly dramatic, but it is seen as a legal eesue. Weez consent. I could use zis to control, zey are saying. I would never use it zis way, even eef I was not devoted to Ronald. But of course zat does not seem to matter.”

“Yet love potion is legal,” said Hermione, feeling irritable. “It makes no sense. I’m sorry, Gabrielle. Unfortunately, that does make becoming a citizen harder. There have been legal cases in the past about this exact issue, but the Veela have always lost so far. Until that changes, the only way for you to become a full citizen under the laws of our Ministry would be to...well, marry.”

“I see.” Gabrielle looked thoughtful for a moment. “Well, eet eez only one option, but eet eez better than nozzing. Thank you, ‘ermione.” She reached forward and gave her a grateful hug. “I must admit, sometimes zis causes problems for Ronald and I.”

This was not exactly territory Hermione wanted to drift into. Not only was Gabrielle openly physically affectionate, it seemed, but she also liked to share–in Hermione’s view–a little too much personal information. “Oh?” was all Hermione could get out, very faintly.

“Yes,” said Gabrielle woefully. “He seems to zink zat because I am dedicated to him, zat it makes me blind. Of course ozzer people remain attractive to both of us. Zat is only the way of zings. But he says zat he never found someone as attractive as he does me, and he can’t look at ozzers anymore. I zink zis is eempossible, but he eez upset when I say zis.”

Gabrielle, like Fleur, also seemed to have a habit of putting her foot in her mouth. She was not being intentionally hurtful, but still…

_He never found someone as attractive as he does me._

Did this attraction start when he had still been in a relationship with her? After all, he had known Gabrielle since...well, since they had known Fleur. Since fourth year.

 _It doesn’t matter_ , she thought fiercely.

And it didn’t, not when it came to wanting Ron, because she really, truly didn’t.

But she’d be lying if she said her self-confidence hadn’t taken a heavy blow.

Malfoy’s grip on her knee had become so tight it was almost painful.

“Well,” choked Hermione. “Er–Ron is sometimes...a bit insecure. He had many siblings to compete with, you know. And a famous best friend. How would you feel if he went around dazing people and you always knew it meant he found them attractive?”

“I would be _thrilled_ ,” said Gabrielle sincerely. “Eef someone seems to find him attractive, he becomes very confident. Dazing ozzers would make him confident, I zink. I like when he eez confident. When he eez confident, he becomes like an animal when we–”

“Gabrielle,” said Malfoy, cutting her off. His voice had an edge to it that Hermione couldn’t interpret, but she didn’t look at him. She had just learned how very observant he was, after all, and he probably already sensed her embarrassment over this conversation just by her body language. “He just needs to be reminded that he’s special. He doesn’t have natural confidence like you, so you’ll have to help boost it.” He slipped an arm around Hermione’s shoulders and pulled her back into his side. He was warm. She took a deep breath and just allowed herself to forget why he was doing it and who they were and to just enjoy the contact.

“Yes,” said Gabrielle, thoughtful again. “Zis is true.” And then she smiled brightly again. “Eet was very kind to let me intrude and ask questions. Zank you. I am so excited for tomorrow! We shall go to zee beach and to town. Eet will be lovely.”

“Sounds wonderful,” said Hermione, smiling at her. Hoping it appeared normal.

“Goodnight!” she said, kissing Hermione on both cheeks before standing and moving gratefully from the room, closing the door behind her.

There was a long silence.

“Well. Do I have to be concerned that you’ll run off and fall into polyamorous bliss with the Veela and the Weasel?” Malfoy drawled finally.

Hermione slid away from his embrace and moved to her suitcase, avoiding his eyes. “Haha.”

She felt his eyes follow her. “Are you going to be okay this weekend?”

Hermione bristled. “With what?”

“Weasley and Delacour, obviously.”

“Why wouldn’t I be? I told you I was over Ron, Malfoy, and it’s true. I know that everyone seems to think that for half a year I’ve been some lonely, sexless spinster or something—”

“Granger—”

"—but believe it or not I _have_ been with people since Ron for some fun, thank you very much, not that I would need to in order to be a complete woman anyway—"

"Merlin—"

"—and sure, maybe I'm not part Veela and able to buy a chateau in France by the fucking sea or sports cars with my riches acquired from modeling my abnormally perfect bone structure, and maybe I can’t go around dazing men, but I'm actually very happy for both of them, I truly am, so—"

"Granger!” He cut her off with a raised eyebrow. “I know you’re not a sexless spinster.”

She flushed, a little embarrassed about her outburst now that it was over. “It was just hard when it ended,” she admitted, looking down, “Because we had been best friends for so long. And you can’t really go back to that after—the way things were, with Ron, Harry, and I. I haven’t wanted Ron romantically in a long time—since before we broke up, probably—but I guess I do miss...the ease of the old friendship, sometimes. How that part was in school.”

“I see,” he murmured. His silver eyes were watching her carefully. “But your friends seem to be very pleased you’re here. I don’t know how things were before, but it certainly feels pleasant. Have you not been seeing them as often as before?”

“Not really,” she admitted. “Going to Weasley dinners lost appeal for a while, shockingly.”

“They had appeal in the first place?” She indignantly smacked him on the shoulder, and his eyes glittered. “It’s just a joke. Keep your hair on. I realize this is probably difficult, seeing as it seems to have a life on its own and is possibly at risk of escaping at any moment—”

She sighed and pulled some fresh clothes out of her bag. “I’m going to shower, you wanker.”

“Ah, so you’ll tame it before I’m to share a bed with you?” He smirked. “Thank you, _darling_.”

She wanted to stick her tongue out at him, but she contented herself with rolling her eyes and stalking past him. But his voice stopped her just before she could yank open the bedroom door.

“Hermione.”

She paused without turning, her hand on the knob. “What? I swear, if you’re going to tease more, Malfoy, I am _really_ not in the mood right now.”

“Actually, I was going to say that I realize due to our—history—you may not always know that I am teasing in good nature. So I will explicitly say that I really do like your hair, Granger.”

Slowly, Hermione turned around, staring at him with a mixture of disbelief and wariness. He just grinned nonchalantly. And then his eyes glinted and he put his hands up. “Please don’t hex me.”

“Very funny,” she said in a hard voice. “Keep this up and I won’t take you for that drive in the car, Malfoy, no matter how much bloody money you secured for the charity.” She turned back to the door, about to yank the handle and go to the shower, but he was across the room and holding the handle much faster than she had thought possible, preventing her escape.

Must be those long legs.

“I was serious,” he said in a low voice.

Hermione chanced a glance up at him. His eyes were blazing. Pools of molten silver. It abruptly brought back the memory of him in the driveway, ravishing her with his eyes. She felt heat creeping into her neck, tried to swallow, and failed the first time. She managed it on the second try. “Don’t pity me,” she warned. “Also, you broke a rule today. No, actually, you know what? You broke another one I didn’t even think to write.”

Malfoy blinked, the intent light in his eyes fading. “What?”

“Yes.” She gave him a severe look. “First, the “L” word. Really?”

“The “L” word?” He stared at her incredulously. “What are we, fifteen?”

“We’ve been supposedly dating a month, Malfoy, did you think that was wise?”

“You think too much.” He sighed. “Ginny thought nothing of it.”

She sniffed. “Also, you broke rule number one. You referenced our sex life.”

Malfoy smirked. “Our sex life? We don’t have a sex life, Gr—”

“Oh, shut up,” she snapped. “You know what I mean. With Ginny on the way in. You were being suggestive with your words and—and your _eyes_ _—_ _clearly_ alluding to sex—”

“That’s realism,” he drawled, rolling his eyes. “Couples do sometimes want to fuck each other, Granger. I thought you would be pleased I was playing my part so well.”

“Not when it breaks rule number one!” She was irritated by the heat that began to pool below her abdomen when the word ‘fuck’ casually slid over his lips in this context.

“I thought that meant no direct or crude jokes or references,” he shot back, and his eyes shuttered for a moment, becoming closed. “Not that I wasn’t allowed to act like I wanted you. That was the whole point, I thought. But I’ll restrain myself to worse acting.” His mouth twisted.

“No, it’s—” Hermione felt suddenly guilty for some reason. “I suppose that’s fine. I could also be better. I’m sorry. It’s just that I’m a little—on edge. I just want this weekend to be fun.”

Malfoy sighed and put his hands on her shoulders. “Then just _relax_. Stop overthinking. We’re going to drink and shop and eat well and go to the beach this weekend. You’re among friends. You’re in a chateau in fucking France. Have you even had a vacation since you left Hogwarts?”

“Er—no,” she admitted.

“Merlin,” he muttered. “Let yourself have this, Hermione.”

“Right.” She let out a sharp exhale and then peeked tentatively at him. “Do you think you’ll enjoy it too? I hate to think you’re here to help me and feeling completely miserable…”

“Yes. Stop worrying.” His eyes had become warmer again.

Hermione gave him a small smile, but found his gaze was making her fluttery and it was likely best if she escaped now. “Okay. Good. Then I’ll go shower.” She opened the door.

Malfoy smirked. “Again, I thank you. Anything I need to know about your sleeping habits? To be honest, I can see you being a horrid kicker.”

“If I were, you’d deserve it,” she quipped, and she heard his soft laugh as she shut the door.

She found there was a wide grin on her face for the next five minutes.

When she returned from her shower, he was already in the bed, his breathing slow and deep.

Carefully, she slid into her side of the bed, not wanting to wake him. It had been a long time since she had shared a bed with someone. When she had seen other men for a bit of fun in the past half year, she always left that same night. But of course she had shared a bed with Ron the time they had been together, and sometimes she did miss having someone there.

Granted, these circumstances were different and she couldn’t just snuggle up to Malfoy, despite how warm he was and how wonderful he smelled after his own shower. The scent of pine and cedar was even stronger than before. The sudden image of him shirtless and rummaging through his suitcase flashed across her eyelids.

Hermione sighed irritably, ignoring the twinge between her legs, and turned on her side, facing away from him. Okay, so she kind of wanted to sleep with him.

She should have foreseen this. She should have planned accordingly. As it was, she was just going to have to live with it for the weekend, or if it got really bad she’d have to find some damn relief during one of her showers. She had a feeling that sleeping with Malfoy on a decision made from lust or strong cocktails would make charity board meetings awkward.

It took a while for her active, whirring brain to quiet down after the events of the day, but eventually she was able to drift off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for the continued support on this fic! It means the world :)


	5. Saturday

Hermione woke with a distinct feeling of content.

She and Malfoy had forgotten to close the curtains the night before, so there was sunshine coming in through the windowpanes, a warm sliver of it falling across her face.

It took her a few long moments to completely come to and realize that Malfoy was gone.

Hermione hurriedly sat up, wondering just how late she’d slept in.

She remembered, vaguely, being tucked against his side the night before. Sometime in the middle of the night they had gravitated toward the middle of the bed, and she thought maybe that his arm had been on her hip. But it was very fuzzy.

And probably best not to think about too deeply.

Hermione quickly got dressed, yanked a brush through her curls, and headed out into the corridor. It took her nearly fifteen minutes to get to the kitchen, and when she did she saw that Harry was there with Luna, Ron, and Gabrielle.

“Morning,” said Hermione, smiling. “Have any of you by chance seen Draco?”

“Right here, love,” came his distinct drawl from the doorway to the kitchen, and her heart did a funny little leap at the sound. She turned to see that he was entering the kitchen, Theo and Ginny behind him. “Weasley here was showing Theo and I some sports channels up in the viewing room.” He wandered over to hover close to her; she took a moment to appreciate his button-up shirt and trousers and how they fit him before he was tucking an arm around her hip and pulling her to his side. “I was also told that we could take the car after breakfast.”

“Oh no,” she sighed, and the others laughed.

“I’m very coordinated, Hermione, you offend,” he said, tugging on a curl and grinning.

“We’ll see,” she said, looking at him dubiously.

Breakfast was a lively affair full of chattering and incredible food and mimosas. When Malfoy reached for one, Hermione slapped his hand away and said sternly, “You are operating a _vehicle_ after this. See how Harry isn’t drinking one either?” to which he looked vaguely surprised but then seemed to see the sense in her words, because he just shrugged and poured himself plain orange juice instead. He then casually set a hand on her knee while he ate, and Hermione attempted not to peek at him and imagine how good he would look (and how terrifying he would probably be) behind the wheel of that sports car.

When they were finished and heading outside, he looked so eager that Hermione felt an unwilling rush of affection. Ron gave her the keys and glowered at Malfoy a moment. “If you so much as scratch my car, Malfoy, I will hex you into oblivion.”

Malfoy just snorted. “Keep your hair on, Weasley.”

Hermione patted Ron on the shoulder. “We’ll take care of it, Ron. Don’t worry. Thank you for letting us take it. Come on,” she said to Malfoy, taking his elbow and pulling him away before his smirk could make Ron’s ears get redder than they already were.

When they got to the car, Hermione bit her lip to keep from laughing when she saw that Malfoy was hovering beside it, looking at it with clear bewilderment. It seemed all the confidence earlier was at least partially feigned. He was also standing on the wrong side.

“This is my side,” said Hermione pointedly, from behind him.

Malfoy turned to glance at her. “Right. I have to use that thing.” He pointed at the steering wheel, and this time she couldn’t quite stifle her giggle.

“Yes. You have to use that thing. And the _things_ on the floor.” She gestured forward and he leaned, peering down at the three pedals with some consternation. “Are you telling me you haven’t even really seen people driving before?” Hermione continued incredulously.

“Er,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck and looking very awkward. “Not very much. At King’s Cross I saw Muggles in their cars, a little bit. I didn’t—pay much attention back then. And in the movies last night they drove sometimes.”

Hermione refrained from saying “That’s it?” but she should have known the Malfoys wouldn’t have often got out and about in Muggle London and would have used magical methods only to get around. Instead she said, “Should I maybe drive a bit first to show you how it’s done? I can do a round here.” She pointed to the grounds and the gigantic, curved driveway that spanned all the way to the gate from which they had come in.

“Okay,” he agreed, opening the door to slide into the passenger side while Hermione made her way to the driver’s side. “So,” she said, “You have to put the keys in the ignition and turn to start the car. This is a manual, not an automatic, so you also have to hold in the clutch.”

Malfoy blinked. “Speak English, Granger,” he drawled finally, and she rolled her eyes.

“The three pedals here.” She pointed down at her feet, and he leaned over to peer at them curiously. “A manual has three, anyway. The far left is the clutch. It’s how you shift gears. The middle is the brakes. The far right is the gas. Brakes makes the car stop, and gas makes it go. So—” Hermione was feeling mildly ridiculous explaining basic car parts to a grown man. “Use your right foot for the gas and the brakes, and your left for the clutch.”

“Right,” he said slowly.

“So I’m starting it,” said Hermione, “And I’ll need to have the clutch and break pressed down. In an automatic car, you wouldn’t have to worry about the clutch, but with a manual the car can stall out—um, it will stop and the engine will die, and you’ll have to start it again—if you don’t use the clutch or shift gears properly. It takes some getting used to.”

He blinked again. “This is more complicated than I anticipated.”

Hermione glanced over to see that his brow was furrowed and his hands were twisting slightly in his lap. Another surge of affection squeezed at her, and she had no idea why she didn’t take the opportunity to call him off the idea. Instead she said, “An automatic would have been easier to start with, yes, but I learned on a stick shift, and so can you.” She gave him a brief smile. “Here, just watch me and I’ll explain as I go. It’s not so bad.”

His eyes were attentive and intense as he observed her drive. Hermione was torn between the desire to dissolve into giggles at his awe over something so natural and simple for her, and also a bit of jittery nerves from the undivided attention of his gray eyes. As she started the car and began to slowly drive, she directed his attention to the gears as she went and how she shifted, to her feet on the pedals, and explained to him how to know when to shift.

Malfoy didn’t speak or ask questions. He just quietly listened while she talked, watching carefully as they made a slow round to the gate and back, with Hermione turning the car for another go so Malfoy could just start in a straight line.

Hermione cut the engine and turned to him. “Ready?” she asked.

Malfoy appraised her a moment. “On a broom,” he said finally, “I can only hurt myself.”

“True,” said Hermione, “But I have this.” She took her wand out of her pocket and waved it at him, smiling a little. “I can always stop you. And besides, as long as you go slow, it’ll be perfectly safe.” She nudged him with her elbow. “Going to chicken out, Malfoy? You were so eager to drive.”

He rolled his eyes. “Excuse me that I have concerns for your safety, Granger,” he said, and her traitorous heart did a little swoop. “But fine. I’ll try. No laughing.”

They switched sides, Hermione grinning widely, and when they were seated Malfoy sat there and stared at the steering wheel almost like it was a venomous snake. “It won’t bite you,” said Hermione, giggling, and he shot her a look of deepest disdain.

“I said no laughing, Granger.”

“Come now, let me enjoy you out of your comfort zone just a little,” she teased. “The keys are in the ignition. Push the clutch in and start the car.”

He did so, on tenterhooks, as if he thought the car might explode if he turned the key too hard. It started, and the engine was purring, and he looked at her. “Now what?”

“So,” said Hermione, “I showed you how to slowly let the clutch out and start moving forward at the same time. Not too much. Just ease into it.”

Predictably, when he tried to let the clutch out, he killed it immediately.

The look he threw Hermione made her burst out laughing again. “That’s normal.”

Malfoy pursed his lips and turned the key again to start it once more. This time he got further—at least to the point where the car was lurching, that in between where there wasn’t enough gas and still too much clutch—before it stalled out.

“Bloody thing,” he growled, starting it again with an angry hand movement.

This time he moved much slower, and though there was some shaking and the car hovered dangerously close to the edge of stalling out, he managed it.

“Good job!” said Hermione, laughing again at the stunned look on his face.

“We’re moving!”

“Yes,” said Hermione. “Astute observation, Malfoy. Go a little faster, you’ll stall out again.”

Tentatively, he did so. The slow smile that crept onto his face as they crawled along (at an absolute turtle’s pace) was infectious, and she could tell he was gaining confidence when they slowly began picking up more and more speed. After a while, Hermione said, “Hear how the engine is revving too high? You need to switch to second.”

Despite his enjoyment, Hermione noted that Malfoy’s knuckles were also white on the steering wheel. He glanced at her. “But I’ll kill it again.”

“You won’t,” she encouraged. “It’s easier to switch gears than start out in first. Really.”

He shook his head furiously. “I can’t.”

“Yes, you can,” she said. “It’s bad for the car. Come on, switch!”

Malfoy let out a furious little noise and switched gears. It was sloppy, and the car vibrated a little, but he managed it, and she clapped her hands, laughing. He swung his head over to look at her, his eyes wide and delighted and grinning in triumph. “I did it!”

Hermione pointed forward. “Yes, yes, very good, but keep your eyes on the road!”

His eyes snapped away immediately. They were approaching the gate, and though it was slow, Hermione began to grow nervous when he showed no indication of turning. “Um,” she said finally, “Draco, you do know you’re going to need to start turning around, right?”

His eyes darted over to look at her. He had a strange expression on his face, and his eyes had a blazing light on them, but it wasn’t anger or irritation. She didn’t know what it was. She stared, confused, but it was over quickly, and he was looking ahead again, nodding. “Yes. Do I need to shift or—”

“Not if you turn smoothly,” she said. “Start now, just a little—”

He made the turn without any problems, and she was clapping again when they straightened out to make the drive back toward the chateau. He was really smiling now, clearly more relaxed. “It’s quite fun,” he said, leaning back a little in the driver’s seat.

Hermione took a self-indulgent moment to really look at him.

No, she hadn’t been wrong. Draco Malfoy looked excellent behind the wheel of a car.

He had noticed her staring. “What? Am I doing something wrong?”

“No,” she said, hurriedly looking forward. “You’re doing perfectly.”

She talked him through cruising to a slow stop, and he did so, coming to a halt almost exactly where they’d started off and turning off the engine. There were figures heading toward them from the gigantic front door of the chateau, but Malfoy looked over at her, the intent light in his eyes that she recognized immediately and that made her heart begin to race.

“Thank you,” he murmured, smiling. “For trusting me to do that.”

And then he leaned across the console, took her face in his hands, and kissed her.

It was mostly brief, but he ran his tongue just sensually enough over her bottom lip to make her shiver, and his fingers were tracing a pattern just gently enough on her face to make her breath catch. When he pulled away, in fact, it did feel like the air had been robbed from her lungs, so it took her a moment to mumble back, “You’re welcome.”

He just had time to flash her another smile before the others—Theo, Ron, and Gabrielle—were at the car. Gabrielle did a little cheer. “You ‘ave done it!” she said, beaming.

Ron’s eyes were ranging over the car for damage, and Hermione stepped out, lightly hitting his shoulder with a laugh. “Come on, Ron, you saw how slow we were going. Your precious car is fine. Draco was very careful.”

“Yeah well,” Ron grumbled. “Never again. Buy your own car, Malfoy.”

“I’m considering it now,” he replied, rather smugly. “I can take Hermione for drives.”

“Well done mate,” said Theo, looking impressed. “I’m never learning one of those things. I can’t even figure out a broom and all you have to do is sit and lean forward.”

“Brooms are more unpredictable,” Hermione told him. “It’s much more about feeling and natural ability. Cars have a logic to them, a specific part you press if you want to stop or go. I’m wretched on a broom, but I love driving. Also, I’m not up so high.” She shuddered a little.

“Didn’t you two and Potter ride a Gringotts dragon once or something?” asked Theo, grinning as he pointed between Ron and Hermione.

“I’ve ridden way more things in the air than I ever would have liked,” muttered Hermione.

“You ‘ave ridden a dragon?!” Gabrielle turned to look at Ron, surprised, before kissing both his cheeks. “You continue to surprise me, my love!”

“We stole it from the bank. And we also jumped from the dragon into a lake below,” offered Ron, ears reddening again and clearly pleased with her reaction.

Hermione was torn between rolling her eyes and smiling.

Some things never change.

* * *

That day was to be dedicated to exploring the seaside town and the beach, so Hermione went upstairs, trailed by Malfoy, to start preparing a day bag.

“If I were to buy a car,” he was asking her as she pushed the door open to her room, “Do you think an automatic would be better?”

Hermione shrugged. “It’s all about your preference. You’d have to get some official tests done, you know. A Muggle license.” The sudden image of Draco Malfoy at the licensing office or sitting a Muggle examination was enough to make her grin as she stooped to her suitcase.

“What are you smirking at?” He tugged on a curl, and she swatted him, smiling.

“The image of you going through Muggle licensing.”

“So glad I can entertain,” he said dryly.

“I need to change,” she said, pushing him toward the door. “Shoo.”

“Very polite,” he sniffed, but then he grabbed his own change of clothes, the door was shut, and Hermione had spun back to her suitcase. She had packed a towel, and of course sunglasses and sunscreen, and her wallet. Her fingers lingered on her dress and swimsuit, hesitating.

The scar on her arm was beginning to tingle.

It wasn’t that she was ashamed of the word ‘ _Mudblood’_ carved into her. Mostly the contrary. It showed what she’d been through. That she was brave. And she _was_ proud to be Muggleborn. But back home people knew her. Time had passed. They all knew it was there now and they knew not to stare on the rare occasions she wore shorter sleeves; she preferred light, billowing clothes and long sleeves, especially during work.

Here, however...

“Stop being petty,” she muttered to herself, and slipped the swimsuit on before changing into a light, airy sundress and sandals and braiding her hair, perfect for a day at the sea.

Hermione met Malfoy downstairs. As was beginning to become the usual move when she came to stand beside him, he tucked an arm around her shoulders and pulled her to his side. She aggressively tried not to notice that he was wearing some sort of delicious smelling cologne as they all waited on the final person—Gabrielle—to arrive in the parlour.

When she did, she was levitating baskets beside her. “A picnic!” she exclaimed happily, floating ahead of them and leading everyone out to the car.

Ron magically expanded it to make for more room so everyone could pile into the backseat, but they were still so close to each other that Hermione was practically sitting on Malfoy’s lap. His fingertips running lightly on her shoulder were also very distracting.

When Hermione chanced a glance at Malfoy as Harry began to drive, she smiled and nudged him with her shoulder, gesturing toward the silver aviators he was wearing. “Nice sunglasses.”

He flashed her a grin. “I bought them for the weekend. To your liking, darling?”

“Prat,” she said, as the gate slid open and the car rolled outside and began to pick up speed.

Malfoy just chuckled, and then he nudged his sunglasses down his nose to look at her in a way that made all of her blood run hot. “And why did you braid your hair up, hmm?” he teased. “It does look very lovely, but you how know I like it wild.”

“Out of courtesy for other car passengers,” she said, shooting him a warning look at the clear innuendo in his voice, and he just smiled wider and pushed the sunglasses back up and went about admiring her dress. Her pulse quickened and her breath stopped.

“New couples,” said Theo, shaking his head as he peered over at them. Luna had given up sitting beside him and had just moved to his lap, absentmindedly playing with his hair. “Draco, stop eye fucking your girlfriend for five seconds, would you? The rest of us want an appetite later.” Ginny snorted from the passenger seat, and Hermione’s cheeks burned.

“He says, with his own woman sitting in his lap,” drawled Draco, and though he had sunglasses on Hermione could tell by the movement of his face that he had rolled his eyes.

“This,” said Theo, gesturing to Luna, “is adorable. That—” he pointed between Hermione and Malfoy, “is clearly at a danger of becoming something indecent at any moment.”

“He’s got a point,” piped up Ginny, and Hermione thought about hexing her. “You two are radiating some sort of feral energy back there, Malfoy. But please keep it in your pants. Ron already let you drive the car, but I don’t think he’d tolerate—”

“Finish that sentence and you die,” grumbled Hermione, yanking her sunglasses out of her bag and putting them on in the hopes that it would hide her facial expression. Ginny just shot her a shit-eating grin over her shoulder, and Hermione heard Malfoy’s soft laugh in her ear.

Gabrielle sat forward eagerly, and Hermione had to contain an audible groan. “I zink it’s _wonderful_ ,” she said sincerely. “Zere is almost nothing better than intense sexual passion, don’t you zink? Ronald and I—”

“NO,” said Ron loudly, though he didn’t seem to think that was enough, because he clapped a hand over her mouth. “We’ve talked about this, love. There are things we just don’t need to say.” Gabrielle pushed his hand away, but she was laughing, and she didn’t say anything else, though she did lean over and kiss Ron on both cheeks.

“Ron has been much more adamant about Gabrielle learning a bit of a filter since last weekend,” said Ginny, waving her hand playfully in the air as the wind rushed by the car before turning to grin at everyone in the back seat.

Hermione heard Harry disguise a laugh into a cough as he drove, and Ron looked very indignant. “Ginny, we agreed not to talk about that ever again.”

“I agreed to no such fucking thing,” said Ginny, appalled.

“Oh, do tell, Weasley,” said Malfoy, nudging his sunglasses down again and letting his eyes glitter at Ron for a moment, causing Ron to narrow his eyes. “Anything that makes your brother uncomfortable certainly feels like a story worth sharing.”

Hermione jabbed her elbow into his ribs, but he responded by tightening his hold on her and gathering her closer to his chest, which was equal parts irritating and intoxicating.

Ron scoffed. “Malfoy, you absolute tosser, go eat a big bag of dicks—”

“Ronald, please—” began Hermione, but Ginny cut them off.

“Oh, Gabrielle just decided to overshare with mum,” said Ginny. “I thought she and Ron were both going to faint. It made me seriously reconsider this Quidditch career thing having me gone so often. If those are the weekend events I’ve been missing…” She sighed dramatically.

“Well,” said Gabrielle, tossing her hair a little. “I do not understand zis shame with sexual matters. Your muzzer has seven children, she knows zat—”

“Gabrielle, I swear,” growled Ron, cutting her off again.

Malfoy was shaking with silent laughter against Hermione, but Ginny put on music, perhaps hoping to spare her brother, and the discussion died down and everyone just took some time to appreciate the scenery and the feeling and smell of the salty sea air on their faces.

When they arrived and Harry had parked, Malfoy’s blonde hair was delightfully windswept, and it was really not fair how warm that made Hermione feel.

“We’re playing beach volleyball,” Harry told Malfoy and Theo. “It’s a Muggle sport.”

Ginny grinned, reaching into the trunk and grabbing the white ball before tossing it violently at Theo’s head, who caught it at the last moment, though he fumbled and nearly dropped it.

“I’m not playing,” said Hermione immediately.

“That surprises no one,” said Ron.

Hermione bristled. “Yes, I get it, I’m atrocious at sports.”

“So am I,” said Theo. “I’m not playing either.”

“I knew I liked you,” Hermione said, and Theo smiled warmly at her before lobbing the ball back over to Harry, who passed it to Malfoy. Malfoy caught it with much more ease than Theo had, circling the ball around in his hands and examining it.

“Up to the challenge, Malfoy?” asked Harry.

“Obviously,” Malfoy retorted, hurling it back.

They bickered and tossed the ball back and forth with Ginny as the group made their way to the beach. It was a perfect day. Sunny, not a cloud in the sky, and warm enough to feel like the sun seeping delightfully into the skin but not uncomfortably hot. There was a very light breeze that picked up the smell of the waves, and Hermione breathed in deeply, content.

After setting up the umbrella, she and Theo shook out their towels and sat underneath it, observing with some amusement as the others trooped over and began setting up a net for their game. “So,” said Theo to Hermione, as the group stood around pointing and talking to Malfoy, obviously demonstrating the rules, “Here we are. The two oddballs.”

“Not wanting to get smacked with a volleyball doesn’t make us odd,” said Hermione, smiling.

Theo reached into a cooler, took out two of some sort of fruity alcoholic drink, and tossed her one. “I’ll drink to that. Here, Luna turned me on to these. I think you might like it.”

“How did you two meet, anyway?” asked Hermione curiously, discreetly flicking her wand to open the bottle and take a sip.

“Oh,” Theo laughed, “I almost bowled her over in a corridor of the Ministry. Knocked all the papers out of her hand. She was applying for some grant to go traveling and try and find a Crumple-Horned Snorkack, but had gotten denied. And yet somehow, she was more cheerful about her life than I was.” He shrugged, a soft smile playing on his lips. “I wanted to be around her more, so I asked her out to coffee, and well—that was the end of that.”

“That’s really sweet,” Hermione said, privately being viciously torn between relief that the Ministry did not waste money funding Luna’s expedition and sympathy because, as batty as she was, Hermione was quite fond of Luna.

“I’m very lucky,” said Theo sincerely.

The volleyball game went on in the background, and occasional shouts of delight or arguments caused Theo and Hermione to break their conversation, look over, and laugh, but mostly they stayed absorbed in their topics. Hermione couldn’t believe how easy Theodore Nott was to talk to. He loved to read, and the subject of books alone lasted at least twenty minutes, and they were so engrossed that Malfoy’s familiar drawl nearby made them both jump. “Came for some water,” he said, rummaging in the cooler, and Hermione looked up to find that she was level with and staring right at his bare abdomen.

Her brain stuttered a moment.

She wanted to touch it and see if it felt as hard as it looked.

Malfoy glanced over, and a wicked grin shot across his face. “Enjoying the show?”

Hermione’s face flamed, but she just rolled her eyes. “How’s the game?”

“We’re losing. Badly. I, however, am I natural. Obviously.” He smirked, and took a long drink before running a hand through his hair. “You sure you don’t want to join us?”

“Very,” said Hermione, and he just threw her one last smile before jogging back, her eyes now on the muscles in his back and the broad set of his shoulders.

She really needed to get a handle on herself.

“It’s quite impressive that you still manage to look at him like he’s a tall glass of water in the desert,” said Theo, and she looked at him to see that his eyes were glittering in a way very similar to the way Malfoy’s did when he was teasing or amused. “Or a particularly delicious dessert that you want to devour. Or, you know, any nutritional analogy really.”

“Oh, shut it, Theo,” said Hermione. “He’s a handsome man.”

“And a complete sap,” said Theo, laughing and peering over Hermione’s shoulder. “Notice how every other man at the beach besides him and Harry are staring at Gabrielle, who just stripped to her bikini?”

Surprised, Hermione followed his gaze to see that he was exactly right—Gabrielle had just flung her shirt off to the side, and the men out in the sand in any close range to Gabrielle or the ones strolling by were just as wide-eyed as they had been at the fundraising event, looking extremely dazed, though Harry was walking back in preparation to serve the ball and Draco’s eyes were looking their direction. When she and Theo waved, he just smirked and moved his eyes to the volleyball, preparing for Harry’s serve.

“He’s been just dying for you to watch this entire time,” said Theo, grinning. “You’ve done well on him, Granger. He’s channeling his tendency to show off and be the center of attention into one healthy place. It’s good for him.”

Hermione just laughed, though the rest of the game she noted that Theo was right. Draco’s eyes drifted to her incredibly often, and each time she caught him he grinned at her.

He _was_ quite good at volleyball already.

He and Harry, as Seekers, were both quick, so they had a knack for moving to dive and catch the volleyball before it hit the ground. Hermione noted that he and Ginny, who was on his team, seemed to have an unspoken agreement that if he saved the ball from hitting the ground, she would be the one to spike it as hard as humanly possible.

After the game they all came over to take off their over clothes for a swim.

“Come on,” said Malfoy, holding out his hand. “Come swimming with me.” He gave her a pleading look, and Luna was also tugging Theo to his feet, so Hermione took off the dress and allowed Malfoy to pull her out into the sand, and they waded carefully out into the waves until they were treading water along with the others.

Malfoy drifted closer to her, smirking, before splashing her. She gasped, rubbing her eyes and glaring at him, but he just laughed. “Take out your braid,” he said. Hermione just stuck out her tongue, but he came even closer, resting his hands on her hips and tilting his forehead down to hers, and she could no longer breathe. “Please?”

“You do it,” she commanded, and he complied immediately, his fingers running through her hair until it was free and he was running his fingers through it to shake it out.

“There,” he murmured, smiling. Hermione could see every drop of water on his face. He was so close to her. And he was looking at her so—intensely. He was so ridiculously good at this. She tried to look the same, and certainly not look as dazed as she felt.

They swam about for a bit, staying close to one another and enjoying the rolling feeling of the waves, before they turned toward the shore and used the waves to propel them forward, trying to swim and keep up.

Hermione didn’t, and she got pulled under the water and finally made her way to the shore, sputtering and coughing first but then starting to laugh.

She saw a flash of blonde, and before she knew it Malfoy was there next to her, his upper body covering hers, and he was kissing her.

It was, of course, wet, and tasted like salt and the sea.

This was no chaste kiss. Malfoy’s fingers had buried themselves in her hair, stroking through it while he kissed her deeply, perhaps more deeply and intensely than she usually would in public, especially considering that his tongue in her mouth—just the right amount, just the right pressure—was making her feel dizzy. But they were a new couple and were supposed to be like this, right? Hermione allowed herself to fulfill her curiosity.

Just a little couldn’t hurt.

She curled one hand around the back of his neck and pulled him closer and with her other hand, and she traced a hand down his chest and to his abdomen.

It was, just as she had suspected, hard and taut under her fingers, and it tensed even more when she touched him. Malfoy also made a sound deep in his throat, something like a little strangled growl, and a both entirely unwelcome and very delicious wave of heat shot through Hermione, finally pooling at her abdomen. Malfoy pressed her more firmly into the sand with his chest, and one of his hands ghosted along her jaw and rested gently on her throat, his thumbs tracing little patterns as he kept kissing her.

“Oi!” said Harry, coming over and folding his arms. “Stop being indecent! It’s lunch time!”

Malfoy turned his head slightly, but didn’t pull away completely. “Shut up, Potter,” he murmured against her mouth, and then put his lips on hers again. He kissed her one, two, three more times before he finally pulled away and moved to stand, holding out his hand to help Hermione up with a smug little smile.

Git.

They had lunch, chatting animatedly, and Malfoy sat there in only his swimsuit with his thigh grazing hers or sometimes putting a hand on her knee, again seeming completely at ease even after their very heated make out session.

 _He’s able to just turn it right off,_ thought Hermione, rather bitterly.

For the afternoon the couples split up, so they were alone when they decided to walk from the beach and into the little town nearby to have a peek around.

“So,” said Malfoy, slipping his arm away as soon as they were out of sight of everyone else, “Quite the day, hmm?” He was deliciously tousled from all the activity and, Hermione noted, a shade of light pink on his arms, face, and neck.

“Are you protecting your skin in any way right now?” she asked pointedly.

Malfoy blinked, frowning a little. “Oh. No. I suppose not.”

“It’s a simple charm, Draco,” she sighed, pulling out her wand, checking their surroundings, and tapping him on the arm. He glowed briefly white before his skin returned to normal.

“My my, darling,” he said, “First name again _and_ fussing over my health?”

“Oh, shut up,” said Hermione, rolling her eyes and knocking him with her shoulder as they walked, which did nothing to move him whatsoever. “I just know how you whine when you’re injured, _Malfoy_ , and I have no intention of dealing with you having a nasty sunburn.”

He just smirked, but didn’t say anything more as they approached the town.

It was a quaint, cozy little place. The houses were colorful and small, the streets were winding and packed with little shops, and the air smelled of delicious food and ocean air. There were blips of French conversation happening around them, and the locals, while probably used to tourists, stared at them with some curiosity as they strolled.

“I thought about moving to France, you know,” said Malfoy suddenly, his eyes on a bakery.

“Really?” Hermione glanced over, surprised. “Why?”

“I’m not exactly popular back home, Granger. In case you hadn’t noticed.” His voice was light, but there was a slight edge to it, and his eyes were far away.

“Well—” Hermione felt a little awkward, but it wasn’t as if she could pretend it was otherwise. “That’s part of why we’re doing this whole scheme, aren’t we?”

Malfoy shrugged. “It may help, but it won’t be the same ever again. It’s my own fault. And I like France. I came here a lot with my family for vacations.”

Hermione felt very, very strange all the sudden. “It wouldn’t be the same without you. At the charity.”

He glanced at her, a small smile ghosting across his face, though it was slightly bitter. “Yes, you tolerate me now because I’m at the bottom of the hierarchy,” he told her. “Disliked. Fallen from grace. Whatever you’d like to call it. And you, Hermione, always champion for the misunderstood, don’t you?” He laughed. “If the public still liked me, I doubt you would.”

Hermione blinked rapidly, suddenly feeling very indignant. “That’s not true!” she said, voice a little shrill. “I like you now because of you. You’re—well, you’re actually my favorite person at the charity,” she admitted. “And I’m enjoying this with you now, and I liked driving the car with you earlier. I think you’re very helpful, when you're not being a git. And clever. And—I would be sad if you left.”

His eyes had been forward on the road, hands stuffed in his pockets, but then he looked at her again when she finished speaking, and his mouth quirked up in a teasing smile. “Well then, don’t worry your pretty, brilliant head over it, Granger. I already decided not to go.”

Hermione simply stared at him in stunned silence. “What?” he asked, arching an eyebrow.

“You called me pretty,” she told him.

He arched the eyebrow higher. “And you called me easy on the eyes last week. So what?”

“Well I—” she sputtered, uncertain what to say. “I don’t know. I didn’t think that—well—”

Malfoy just laughed, gently took her shoulders, and turned her to the right. “Look, Granger. Want to go inside?” He had turned her to face a little book shop.

Her eyes lit up immediately. “Oh,” she breathed, starting to rush forward.

Malfoy trailed after her, but mostly left her to her own devices while she browsed the shelves. It was glorious. He didn’t breathe down her neck, or rush her, or try and ask her if they could go somewhere else. He looked at shelves and left her in peace for a long time, and by the time he finally sidled up to her she had picked out five books.

He had a bookmark in his hand. “Look. It looks like your cat.”

Indeed it did look like Crookshanks, color and squashed face and all.

“How did you know about Crookshanks?” asked Hermione.

He snickered. “Oh please, Granger, I saw it around Hogwarts. As soon as anyone sees that thing I think the image is permanently burned on the retinas. It’s hideous. And you talk about him quite a lot. Just last week, in fact. So I gathered he was still alive.”

“He’s sweet,” said Hermione defensively. “And half Kneazle! Very smart. The woman at the Magical Menagerie said that no one wanted him! He’d been there for ages, poor thing—”

“Championing for the downtrodden,” said Malfoy, grinning. “How very unsurprising.”

“Oh, be quiet,” said Hermione, flushing.

His voice got softer. “Do you want this bookmark, Granger?”

She glanced up at it, and the image of the cat made an unwitting smile flit across her face. It really did look like Crookshanks. It wasn’t often Hermione was away from him so many nights in a row, and she missed having him curled up on the couch or bed with her.

“You do,” said Malfoy, before she could answer. “It’s all over your face.” He swept off toward the counter, and Hermione, registering what he was going to do, hurried after him.

“Malfoy, let me just get it. I have my books anyway, so—”

“Oh, yes, good point,” he said, turning and taking the books from her arms before continuing his path to the register. She stared incredulously, following him, as he purposefully set the books on the counter and smiled at the shopkeeper.

“But those are antiques. Some of them are quite expensive,” Hermione protested.

The shopkeeper began ringing up the books and putting them in a bag. He was smiling slightly, and Hermione guessed that even if he didn’t speak English, he probably knew exactly what they were arguing about.

“Oh, be quiet, Granger,” Malfoy said, glancing at her with eyes like molten silver. “I like you too and I want to buy you a present, so would you please just let me?”

Hermione closed her mouth and leaned on the counter, feeling very warm again.

She saw the shopkeeper’s eyes flit to her arm and linger on her scar. It was very slight, but she saw the curiosity—and the distaste—flit across his eyes as he stared.

The happiness in Hermione was snuffed out almost immediately. Her arm was tingling again. She was hearing Bellatrix Lestrange’s cold, cruel laugh. She folded her arms across her chest, hiding her forearms, trying not to feel upset. It was such a stupid, stupid thing to be upset about. She had survived. She was brave. She was proud, and she tilted her chin up to show it. And yet, there was a burning prickle of tears in the corner of her eyes.

Malfoy said something in French to the shopkeeper. His voice had changed. It was harsh and rough, and when Hermione peeked up, she saw that Malfoy was glaring at him.

The shopkeeper mumbled the word that Hermione knew, from her limited French, was something like “ _Apologies_ ,” and awkwardly finished totaling them out.

When they stepped out into the street, with Malfoy still carrying her bag and eyes blazing a little, he took her hand to lead her through more streets. Even though no one was around to see it, she didn’t mind. His hand was warm and steady.

For a long time she babbled a million thank yous for the books, until he teasingly threatened to put a Silencing Charm on her to get her to stop.

They spent a few hours in the town and even stopped for a meal before heading back to the beach. Sunset was approaching and the air was getting cooler, so they all piled back into the car once everyone was there, warm and exhausted but still full of stories of their afternoons.

On the drive home, Malfoy tucked both arms around her and she rested her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes.


	6. Sunday

Hermione jolted awake at two in the morning.

This was a semi-regular occurrence. It happened every few weeks or so.

It wasn’t terribly dramatic. Her bad dreams didn’t make her wake up screaming or feeling incredibly frightened. Most of the time her eyes just flew open with a little gasp, or sometimes she sat up in bed. Tonight it was the latter of the two—the blankets fell away slightly as she jerked up, looking around and trying desperately to get her bearings.

Hermione often didn’t remember the images from her dreams. Just the feelings of fear, or panic, or despair. Tonight her arm was tingling and her heart was racing, so she had a good guess what her dream had been about, even if she couldn’t exactly recall the imagery. She was sitting there, waiting for her breathing to slow, when she heard Malfoy’s voice.

“Hermione.” It was a sluggish mumble; he didn’t sound fully awake.

“It’s okay, Draco,” she whispered, turning to peek at him. His eyes were still closed, confirming that he was only half aware of his surroundings, and his brow was furrowed just slightly in confusion. “Just a dream. Keep sleeping.”

Malfoy shifted a little. And then his arms fumbled with the covers and reached out toward her, the frown on his face growing. “Hermione,” he said again, barely audible. “Come here.”

Hermione’s heart did a little flutter and butterflies crowded her stomach but she obeyed, tentatively scooting back. When she was within reach of his grasp his fingers curled around her arms and pulled her toward him, gathering her close so her back was against his chest and she was tucked under his chin. “I’ve got you,” murmured Malfoy, very sleepily.

His arms tightened even more, and mere seconds later his breathing pattern changed to something slower and deeper, indicating that he was fast asleep again.

Hermione couldn’t escape his protective hold if she tried.

Not that she wanted to.

She hadn’t been held in a long time. It felt—safe. To top it off, Malfoy always showered before bed, so he smelled particularly delightful during the night. It was that enticing mixture of masculine spices from his shampoo and body wash.

Hermione squirmed a little, struggling with the urge to spin around in his embrace and kiss him, to try and get him to do something about this arousal that was beginning to drive her mad. She had, much to her chagrin, replayed how he had pinned her down and kissed her on the beach over and over in her mind.

She vaguely knew that she was spiraling to a point of no return.

It took her a while to fall asleep again, but she finally did, still wrapped up in Malfoy.

* * *

Hermione woke to the familiar sound of an owl tapping at the windowpane.

She also woke to the relatively unfamiliar sensation, as of late, of being pressed up very close to someone, and the brief interaction of last night came flooding back to her within seconds.

Though she rather wished she could enjoy being close to him for another few moments, the tapping of the beak was getting louder and more insistent. And so she sighed, wriggled out of Malfoy’s arms, and stumbled over to the window to open it.

“Granger,” slurred Malfoy. “Granger, the fuck?”

“It’s the Sunday Prophet,” she explained, rubbing her eyes as the owl fluttered in and thrust its leg out. Hermione fumbled about for a while before she located her coin purse and the owl ruffled its feathers, clearly impatient. “Yes, yes, I’m going to pay you,” Hermione muttered. She tossed the coins in the owl’s pouch and untied the paper from the owl’s leg.

“I can’t believe you are willing to be woken up on a Sunday for that,” Malfoy grumbled, tossing the covers half over his head to block the light streaming in from the window. Hermione bit her lip to refrain from laughing and also resisted telling him that it already seemed to be quite late in the morning. Instead she unfurled the newspaper to scan it, as was her custom, and see if anything important had happened in the political world.

But as she caught a glimpse of the front page, Hermione let a strangled little gasp.

Malfoy pushed the covers off and propped himself up on his elbows, staring at her with eyes that were now significantly less hazy, though he was still blinking slowly and his hair was a mess. “What? What is it, Granger?”

Hermione wordlessly flipped the newspaper around and showed him the front page.

She watched his eyes take it in; she saw surprise flit across them, and then fury, and then something like resignation.

“Well,” Malfoy said finally, in a deceptively casual voice, “It would have been nicer to control how it got out when we got back to England, but the point of all this was wanting people to find out anyway, right?”

Hermione stared down at it again. He was right, of course.

She wasn’t sure why she was so upset at seeing a picture of her and Malfoy plastered on the front page, eating dinner together at the seaside town yesterday and accompanied by the headline: _A war heroine and a former Death Eater_ _—_ _an unlikely pairing?!_

“Yes,” said Hermione slowly. “It’s just…”

“Yes,” said Malfoy, when she didn’t finish her sentence. “I know.”

“Someone really recognized us? In that tiny little town?”

Hermione realized why she was angry. She felt invaded. She had thought that she could relax here. But apparently she was being scrutinized in exactly the same way that she had been at home. The Daily Prophet wasn’t likely to smear her nowadays, but she shuddered to think about what publications like Witch Weekly would do with this news. They’d probably even bring Ron and that break up into it, even if that had happened ages ago.

“I think we’re both rather recognizable for anyone who pays attention to happenings in other countries, Granger,” he said, sounding strained.

She looked up at the tone of his voice, surprised to see him looking concerned. “What is it?” she asked. “Are you—is this—are you having second thoughts?”

“No,” he said quickly. “Are you? I told you that you’d have to justify being with me—”

“I don’t care,” said Hermione fiercely, “I just really wish we could have a holiday in peace.”

Malfoy opened his mouth to respond, but before he could get words out there was another tapping sound, and they both looked to see an eagle owl hovering outside. “Oh, perfect,” Malfoy said, bitingly sarcastic, shifting to stand as Hermione let the owl in. Malfoy trudged over and extracted the letter, pursing his lips at the loopy handwriting on the envelope.

“Your family?” Hermione asked, voice shooting up an octave.

“Yes,” he said, ripping it open and yanking the letter out. “They must have been told about the article before the paper published.” Hermione watched as his eyes got more and more furious as he read, and then he promptly pulled out his wand and lit the letter on fire. “Well,” he said, far too casually for the second time that morning, “Shall we go down to breakfast?”

“Malfoy,” began Hermione, “We don’t have to continue this.”

“My father can shove it, Granger,” he growled. “Don’t worry about it.”

Hermione bit her lip, uncertain what to say. She did not like seeing Malfoy so agitated, and she tried to remember when that had started. A while ago, probably. Something jiggled in the back of her mind, creeping in out of nowhere, voices she had heard in a corridor:

_You’re willing to break your Pureblood line for her? Suffer the displeasure of your family for her? Somehow I don’t believe it, Malfoy._

_Well, fucking believe it, Weasley._

Before she knew it she was stepping forward and touching his arm. “I’m sorry,” she said.

Malfoy just stared at her, blinking a few times in apparent surprise. “What? You’re not apologizing to _me_ because my father is still a fucking bigot, right?”

“Well—no. Not about that part, of course,” said Hermione. “I suppose I just don’t like seeing you so upset.” She swallowed hard when his face expression suddenly softened.

Malfoy’s eyes then became very intent. “Hermione,” he began, almost roughly, but there was a series of knocks on the door that immediately brought pause to their conversation. Malfoy’s brow furrowed and then he sighed, striding over to the door and yanking it open. It was Ron, looking massively uncomfortable and a little defiant when he met whatever expression was on Malfoy’s face. “What, Weasley?” snapped Malfoy.

“Well, good morning to you too, sunshine,” said Ron. “We’re going out for the day, so Gabrielle wanted me to come and see if you were awake. You should probably hurry up, then.” His eyes ranged over Malfoy’s hair, and his mouth twitched.

“What are we doing today?” Hermione asked curiously from across the room, and Ron’s eyes lit up a little at seeing her over Malfoy’s shoulder.

“Brunch. Wine tasting,” said Ron. “And dancing, I think.”

“Sounds fancy,” said Hermione.

“Gabrielle,” was all Ron needed to say as answer. “See you soon.”

He turned and headed down the corridor, and Malfoy turned to glance at her from the open doorway. “Do you want the room to change?”

“No,” said Hermione. “I’m showering.” She gathered her clothes and slipped by him, though she felt his eyes on her even as she was out in the corridor, walking toward the restroom.

* * *

When Hermione came out of the bathroom in another dress appropriate for the events of the day—this time not a sundress, but a deep green cocktail dress that came to her mid thigh—and her hair quickly dried with a spell and hanging loose and curly ( _not_ because Malfoy liked it, thank you very much), Malfoy was no longer in their room.

She found Ginny and Harry in the parlor.

“Morning,” said Hermione, drifting over to them. “Where are the others?”

“Outside,” said Ginny, giving her a bright smile. “We’re taking the car again. And two of Gabrielle’s friends arrived so they’re all out chatting. I think now we’re just waiting on Theo and Luna.” She gestured Hermione forward, and she followed Harry and Ginny outside.

Her eyes flicked around for the familiar blonde head.

Malfoy’s back was to her, and Hermione let her eyes drag over his broad shoulders and the way his back gradually slimmed down to the hips before she swallowed hard and tried very hard not to think of how pleasant he had felt pressed up against her the night before.

He was with Ron and Gabrielle, to her pleasant surprise, and they were talking to two people that Hermione didn’t recognize, a woman and man that Hermione assumed to be Gabrielle’s friends. Their car was parked beside Ron’s.

Hermione couldn’t see Malfoy’s face, but she saw the woman laughing and fluttering her eyelashes a little. She appeared to be younger, probably Gabrielle’s age, and Hermione felt a brief flicker of irritation. She had to know this was a couple’s retreat, right? Well, perhaps not. She and the new man standing beside her weren’t acting like a couple.

Either way, when the new arrival touched Malfoy’s arm as she laughed again, Hermione thought it would be a good time to make her appearance.

Hermione strolled over and pointedly looped her arm through Malfoy’s. “Hello,” she said to the others with a polite smile, squeezing herself into Malfoy’s side.

She felt Malfoy’s eyes and peeked up at him; he appeared amused. “Hello,” he said, looping an arm around her shoulders, eyes briefly taking in her dress. His voice was low and warm and there was something in it that made her shiver. “This is Hermione,” he explained to the others, and then smiled. “My girlfriend. Hermione, this is Madeleine and her friend, Pierre.”

“We attended Beauxbatons with Gabrielle,” said Pierre.

“Your dress eez lovely,” said Madeleine, her accent stronger than his.

“Thank you,” said Hermione, smiling at her. “Pleasure to meet you both.”

Malfoy’s hand slid up her shoulder, sending tingles up her spine, to wrap one of Hermione’s curls lightly around one of his fingers. She jolted a little, trying to relax when he continued to casually play with her hair.

“We’re ready!” called Theodore Nott, and everyone turned to see him pulling Luna by the hand out the front door.

“Excellent,” said Ron immediately, fishing the car keys out of his pocket. “I’m starving.”

“Fuck, me too,” said Ginny, following him to the car. “Hurry up, you lot.”

Everyone began to trail toward the vehicles. Malfoy did not remove his arm from Hermione’s shoulders, and as they walked side by side he leaned down to murmur in her ear, sounding amused again, “Staking a claim? Is your acting improving, Granger?”

“Do with others what you like,” muttered Hermione out of the corner of her mouth, feeling suddenly very irritable, “But while we continue our agreement, do keep it to private venues, Malfoy.”

Malfoy just laughed quietly and moved closer to her ear, his hand coming to one of her curls again. “Though I appreciate your dedication to the part, you misread the interaction. I just told a joke. You know how funny I am.”

“Oh yes,” she said dryly, “You’re hilarious.”

Malfoy abruptly stopped, tugged lightly on her hair to tilt her head up, placing his other hand on her hip and using it to turn her toward him before kissing her.

Hermione had not been expecting that at all. She let out a small squeak of surprise against his mouth, which he used to slide his tongue leisurely against hers. Hermione’s knees went a little weak and electricity rolled through her spine and lit up her chest. She melted against him and forgot where they were entirely as his hand wrapped through her hair and he continued to kiss her senseless. Hermione fought from letting out a very inappropriate moan when he nibbled on her bottom lip just slightly before pulling away.

“There. Let it not be said that I’m not taking the arrangement seriously,” Malfoy said against her mouth, so quietly she almost didn’t hear it. And then he withdrew with a little smirk, took her hand, and started pulling her along to the car.

* * *

Gabrielle, as it turned out, had a membership at some extremely posh country club.

Hermione shuddered to think what a yearly membership must cost here.

The brunch buffet was easily the most extravagant one she’d ever seen, and as soon as everyone had filled their plates and settled into a table it became a lively affair that involved raucous laughter and conversation, not to mention a competition to balance spoons on noses that began with Ron and Theo and extended to Ginny and Luna. All of this attracted dubious stares from the aristocratic guests around them, peering down their noses at the happy table with expressions ranging from surprise to open displeasure.

Gabrielle, despite being a regular member here, seemed completely oblivious to the negative attention her party was receiving and was instead clapping her hands with glee as she watched the spoon balancing contest narrow to just Ron and Ginny.

Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione became keenly aware of eyes on her from the table beside them, where an older man was staring at her arm and then leaned over to whisper something to the woman beside him, who shifted to peer at Hermione with interest.

A large hand slid onto Hermione’s bare knee, and she jumped a little.

Draco had finished eating and was leaning casually back in his chair, one hand resting very distractedly on her bare skin.

“Be right back,” he told her after a moment, squeezing her knee lightly before standing up.

“Okay,” agreed Hermione, a little surprised at his sudden departure and her eyes following him as he swept across the room and out to the corridor.

After ten minutes, Hermione found her eyes repeatedly darting back over to the corridor. After fifteen, she began to get worried. It was after twenty that she noticed that Gabrielle’s friend Madeleine was also conspicuously missing.

 _He wouldn’t_ , thought Hermione, feeling a growing sense of horror. _He wouldn’t_ _be so irresponsible as to go off with her here_ _. Would he?_

Another five minutes had passed before they both returned together, and when Draco slid into the chair beside her he gave Hermione an apologetic smile. “Sorry, love,” he said, pouring himself some tea. “We got to chatting outside.”

Hermione did not miss the secret smile Madeleine threw him.

Hermione’s spine went rigid, but she was determined not to raise suspicion to others and blow the entire thing, so she just smiled. “That’s nice,” she said, trying to keep the ice out of her tone and praying that she succeeded. No one around the table seemed to notice anything was amiss, so she supposed she had to a certain degree, though Draco paused a little as he brought the cup of tea to his lips and his eyes slid over to meet hers. She avoided looking at him and turned to Harry on her other side instead.

As she talked with Harry, however, Hermione couldn’t quite forget the man behind her, or how if he _had_ just been sneaking off with Gabrielle’s friend that it felt curiously like betrayal, even if she had told him earlier he could shag whoever he wanted in his private time.

Hermione felt the answer hurtling toward her, attempting to push its way into her brain, ignored for longer than she’d care to admit. She avoided it, because a crowded brunch table was not the moment for realizations that would inevitably make her life more complicated; but even while doing so, she was conscious she wouldn’t be able to run from it much longer.

After eating, Gabrielle led their group to a ball room on the ground floor. The rest of the guests were making their way there as well, and Hermione wondered if this was some sort of brunch ritual for this place. Their group, still chattering happily, still attracted glances the entire way, still that mix of curiosity and disdainful disapproval. Once on the dance floor the couples began to separate slightly; Draco slipped his hand into Hermione’s and suddenly pulled her closer, resting one hand on her hip and the other sliding securely around hers.

Draco’s dancing was effortless—he guided her across the dance floor wordlessly for a few moments as Hermione still studiously avoided looking at him.

“You’re quiet,” he commented finally, leaning low to murmur in her ear.

The proximity made her heart race. She hated that she was both flustered and angry. When she finally steeled herself to look up at him, she saw that his eyes were still darting around the room, not looking at her and clearly preoccupied.

Her temper flared. “Luckily no one else at the table seemed very observant,” she said stiffly.

Draco’s eyes flicked down to stare at her. “What?” He seemed genuinely confused.

Hermione just scoffed. “Oh, come on. You—”

“Wait, Granger, hold that thought,” said Draco suddenly, his eyes over her shoulder. Their vivid gray had lit up with something like excitement, and then they blazed down at her. “Here, I want you to dance with someone.” He did a little waving gesture, but before Hermione could turn and see who he had done it to or before she could complain to him that she did not want to do that at all, he had stepped back, smiled at an unfamiliar man, thrown Hermione one last fleeting smile, and was walking away.

The stranger stepped to take Hermione’s waist and she was too shocked to step away. He began twirling with her to the music. He was a portly sort of man, much older than she and Draco, and he looked almost like a cartoon villain with his mustache and monocle.

His suit was the finest quality Hermione had ever seen.

The man practically smelled like money.

She was going to _kill_ Draco.

“Hello, Miss Granger,” said the man, nodding to her.

“Hello,” she replied, a knee-jerk polite reaction even as she wondered what in the hell was going on. She scanned the room to see Draco leaning against the wall, watching with folded arms and a smirk. She glared at him over the man’s shoulder.

“Apparently your boyfriend learned that I would be here today through my niece,” the man continued, seemingly oblivious that Hermione had no clue what he was talking about.

“I’m sorry,” said Hermione, trying to stay calm, “But who are you?”

“Oh, yes, Mr. Malfoy mentioned it was a surprise…I’m Mr. Barreau.”

He announced this with the pompous air of someone that both rarely allowed people to address him on first name terms, and the expectation that Hermione would know exactly who he was. She fought to wrinkle her nose as he continued leading her through the steps of the dance. “I see,” was what Hermione considered safe to say. “How may I help you?”

“It’s rather how I’ll be helping _you_ ,” sniffed the man, puffing out his chest and giving her a look that was an exhausting mixture of self-righteousness and pity.

“Oh?” Hermione was trying hard not to imagine hexing him on the spot.

“Mr. Malfoy has informed me of your desire to start a program for helping—” He lowered his voice and glanced around conspiratorially. “Werewolves.” The last word was accompanied with a dramatic little shudder, as if he could barely stand to let it tumble over his lips, and his beady little eyes darted around nervously, clearly afraid someone had heard the mention of a condition so taboo in these circles that it apparently wasn’t even allowed to be mentioned. “He says you’ve been having trouble getting donors that want to attach their names to helping such a cause, and I must say, I understand that completely,” he continued haughtily.

Hermione had to nearly bite her tongue in half to keep from immediately snapping. He did not seem to notice this. Mr. Barreau clearly loved the sound of his own voice. “But Mr. Malfoy was very persuasive. He explained that it would do well for me to appear progressive when the issue becomes more acceptable to discuss in the future and others of my status are more willing to support it—that I’ll look ahead of the times, you know—and that the general public is already heading that direction. Of course it will help me get some good press after—well, it’s not so important, but the point is—the fact is—Mr. Malfoy made good arguments.”

“You’re willing to fully fund a program in England?” Hermione didn’t want to sound dubious, but she doubted he was willing to extend his grudging charity outside of France. She didn’t want to get her hopes up, because being able to organize a brand new program…

The thought was so wonderful that it was almost dizzying to think about.

She’d been trying _so_ long.

“And France, of course,” corrected Mr. Barreau. “If you’re willing to do international work.”

Hermione swallowed hard, trying to overcome her sudden speechlessness. “Yes,” she said finally, feeling her heart swell but reminding herself she must get through the practicalities before she got too excited. Mr. Barreau did not seem enthusiastic, and if he cut funding…

He seemed to read this on her face, however, and he suddenly shook his head, his monocle vibrating alarmingly and rather comically. “Mr. Malfoy has already suggested I sign a contract agreeing to fund for a certain amount of time. He seemed concerned that I may remove my funding.” He looked ruffled and offended, as if the thought would never have occurred to him; but Hermione knew his type, and was glad she didn’t have to be the one to announce her vague suspicion of him. “I gave my consent,” said Mr. Barreau flatly.

“That’s—wonderful,” choked Hermione, who was just letting it begin to sink in that this was actually becoming a reality. Her own program. A warm glow was beginning to take the place of her anger. “I—thank you, Mr. Barreau.”

“Yes, well,” said Mr. Barreau, “This helps us both, Miss Granger. Thank you for the dance. I’ll be in contact with your charity to discuss paperwork. Good day.” He stepped back from her and slightly inclined his head before walking briskly away.

Hermione stood stock still in the middle of the dance floor, watching Theo and Luna dance (Theo seemed to have completely given up on leading Luna through the formal steps and they were doing their own movements instead) without really seeing them.

It was the distinct smell of Draco’s cologne that snapped her to attention.

This time, both his hands come to her waist, turning her in slow circles.

Hermione looked up at him, mouth still half open in shock.

Draco, for his part, was looking incredibly smug. “Surprise,” he drawled. “You’ve been raving about doing a program for werewolves long enough that I figured it was finally time to—”

But Hermione had cut him off by yanking him down by the front of his shirt and kissing him very fiercely. She felt him freeze momentarily, clearly taken aback; but then his fingers tightened their grip on her waist and he tilted his head and kissed her until her head spun.

When they broke apart he pulled her closer, his mouth by her ear again, and murmured, “Well done, Granger. Your acting _has_ improved.”

Hermione’s heart clenched. “I learn quickly,” she said, hoping she sounded aloof.

Draco said nothing. One of his hands just drifted up to her curls again, raking them through his fingers. Hermione suppressed a shiver, despite being warm from all the dancing.

Merlin, she liked him. She _fancied_ him. There was no use lying to herself about it any more. She suspected the weekend had brought it to light but it had been dormant under the surface for some time. When she really wracked her memories, she had been hyper aware of his presence anytime they were in a room together for months now.

“How did you do it, then?” Hermione asked, breaking the silence.

Draco leaned back to smirk triumphantly at her. “Mr. Barreau is Madeleine and Pierre’s uncle. When they introduced themselves earlier this morning, I recognized their last name immediately. Mr. Barreau has been in French newspapers, you see. He’s been in quite a scandal.” A glimmer of a smile ghosted across his lips, and Hermione remembered Mr. Barreau’s hopes that supporting their charity would bring him good press.

“What was it?” Hermione asked. “What did he do?”

“He was operating an illegal brothel,” said Draco. “Luckily he wasn’t mistreating the employees, so he’s not a complete animal. I guessed you wouldn’t want to work with him if he was that bad." He grinned. "Even if he’s loaded. No, the brothel was just illegal because he didn’t want to pay his taxes.”

“Ew,” Hermione grumbled. “Though admittedly better than the alternative, I suppose.”

“Yes, true,” said Draco mildly, though the look on his face was rather savage. “Well, now he’s paying taxes, legal fees, _and_ us.”

“You didn’t blackmail him, did you?” Hermione asked, suddenly anxious.

Draco laughed and pulled her closer. Hermione had a sudden memory of him pressed against her on the beach and worked in vain to control the sudden spike in her body temperature. “You can only blackmail people with their dirty secrets, Granger, and Barreau’s brothel is public news now. So no. I just appealed to his inherent sense of self-preservation. You know, make it sound like donating is in his best interest.”

“This is why you’re the one that secures funds from the wealthy,” said Hermione, shaking her head and feeling impressed despite herself.

“He wasn’t happy, believe me. It took some convincing.”

“That’s why you and Madeleine disappeared at brunch,” commented Hermione.

Draco glanced down at her with an unreadable expression on his face. “Yes,” he said. “Sorry about that. When I realized who they were this morning, I asked if they could put me in contact with their uncle. Madeleine told me he'd actually be here and she could introduce me so I could say my piece.”

A powerful relief was spreading through Hermione, so she tossed her arms around his neck again and pulled him into a hug. “Thank you, Draco,” she said, voice partially muffled into his chest. “This means—so much.”

“It was mostly just luck,” he said, shrugging. “I can’t believe he was here today.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head before leaning back to look at him. “You were resourceful to know about him at all, meet him, and then clever enough to convince him. And now we have a whole program because of it. I _really_ don’t know how to thank you.”

He smiled; it lit up his eyes and it nearly stopped her heart. One hand came up to her hair again. “Don’t mention it, Granger,” he said, very softly, running his fingers carefully through some of her curls again. Hermione wished she could close her eyes and lean into his hand like a cat.

It was nice, the rhythmic movements his hand made through her hair. His eyes were locked on hers and between that and his closeness to her and his touch the room had become airless. Time felt warped. The way she saw his eyes flick down to her mouth did not help.

 _I want this to be real_ , Hermione thought vaguely. _He’s so convincing—surely_ _he also_ _—_

His lips were on hers and the rest of her thoughts faded away. This kiss felt different. There had been an intention clear on his face that she could feel in his kiss, and she knew she had been staring up at him with gratefulness and probably an inkling of what she was feeling on her features.

Despite it being the most chaste, this one seemed to affect Hermione the most. It made every inch of her skin tingle and her heart beat the fastest.

When he pulled away and stared down at her very intently, she felt the compulsion to say something. “Um—well—” she faltered nervously, but Ginny’s loud, cheerful voice sounded loudly from behind them.

“Come on, lovebirds, break it up. Time to go wine tasting!”

Hermione jumped and turned to see Ginny gesturing them toward the group, who were indeed getting ready to depart from dancing. Hermione also noted some of the other guests eyeing them all and looking very relieved at the news that they were leaving.

Draco just gave her a small smile and took her hand, pulling her after the others.

* * *

Wine tasting took up the rest of the afternoon and went well into the evening.

By the time they got home Hermione had been tipsy twice and sobered up again. It was dark, she was very warm, and definitely sleepy from being out in the sun. She also couldn’t remember the last time she’d had quite so much fun.

Even if Draco’s presence had become even more distracting than it already had been. The tension that existed between them had been shoved under the surface for the afternoon with the others, though it still lingered in every interaction, but it was nothing compared to the thick layer of it that settled over them as soon as they parted company from the group later that night and had made it to their bedroom, closing the door behind them.

Hermione studiously avoided his eyes as she rummaged in her bag. She knew he was watching her but she pretended that she didn't, even as she stood up and began trying to take off the necklace that she was wearing.

"Need help?" Hermione turned to face him and he was standing against the door, half smiling.

“Yes. Could you…” She gestured to the necklace and spun around again, hoping her cheeks weren't flaming.

She was incredibly aware of every footstep he took, and of his presence in the space behind her when he filled it.

Every touch of his fingers on her skin was like receiving a particularly powerful electric zap. She was quite certain that he was purposefully brushing his fingers across the nape of her neck more than necessary to get the necklace off, and by the time she finally heard the clasp come apart and he pulled it away, her heart was thrumming along at a nearly painful velocity.

“Thank you,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady.

She was about to take a step when Malfoy took gentle hold of her shoulders; and then she felt his lips pressing softly onto the side of her neck.


	7. Sunday Night

Hermione could not avoid letting out a choked little gasp when Malfoy’s lips touched her skin.

She also had seemingly no control over the way she automatically tilted her head back and to the side to expose her neck to him further.

His grip on her shoulders tightened.

“Granger,” he murmured.

His voice was quiet and deep and it was as if it vibrated through to her very nerves. She squeezed her thighs together, her brain stuttering. Malfoy’s mouth was already on her neck again, peppering kisses down to her shoulder, his fingers coming up to linger at her dress strap. Hermione didn’t remember the last time she was so affected by even just the faintest of kisses and touches. An almost painful fire was already pooling in her abdomen.

“I want you,” Malfoy told her, in that same low, silky tone.

She momentarily forgot how to breathe. Her heart felt like it was about to burst.

His fingers slid up and down along her dress strap, brushing the skin underneath. His head was tucked into the crook of her neck; she could feel his breath, sending tingles down her spine, each of his exhales like a pleasant electric jolt to the system.

“Do you want me?” His fingers continued tracing her dress strap, though she noted—with an almost painful shiver of arousal—that he also slid it a few inches down toward her shoulder, pressing his lips in the vacated spot. He was waiting, Hermione knew, for her to say it out loud.

She should have known Malfoy would make her say it out loud.

It was both alluring and irritating.

“Yes,” she choked out finally, and she had barely gotten the word out before Malfoy took her by the shoulders, spun her around, and dipped his mouth to hers.

Even after an entire weekend to get used to kissing him, this one still made her weak in the knees.

His tongue slid along her bottom lip and into her mouth with a practiced ease when she sighed and parted her lips. She looped her arms around his neck and clung to him fiercely, pulling him closer. His hands were everywhere—her hips, her sides, her hair, her face. He couldn’t seem to get enough of touching her face. He held her jaw and then her cheeks and ran his fingers in patterns over her skin while Hermione thrilled at how big his hands were; how small she felt in his grasp. She brought one of her hands to trace his jaw, feeling the sharpness of it and the very slight stubble there. Despite the intensity she could feel emanating off him, he still seemed intent on kissing her slowly and carefully.

He paused, his forehead touching hers. When he didn’t return to kissing her after a moment, her eyes slowly opened. He was looking down at her face, eyes blazing.

Hermione’s heart fluttered.

And then he was kissing her again. It was rougher now. More frenzied. She reached up and gripped at his forearms as his tongue slid across hers again, mostly to steady herself more than anything. If she let go of him it was entirely possible that her knees would give way and she would collapse. Or perhaps she would just melt into an aroused puddle right here on Gabrielle’s horrendously expensive floor.

Hermione’s hand drifted from his jaw down the side of his neck, down to his chest, appreciating his pectorals. The other curled around the back of his head so she could press herself even closer.

There was now an almost painful throbbing sensation between her legs, especially when he slid a hand down her side and to her waist. But then, quite suddenly, Malfoy stopped kissing her again. Hermione made a quiet sound of indignant protest at the loss of his lips on hers, but then they were trailing over her jaw before hovering near her ear again, his fingers tightening on her hip.

“You’ve been driving me utterly mad,” he muttered, nibbling gently on her earlobe.

It took her a few moments to speak. “It’s mutual,” she assured him finally, very breathlessly.

He nuzzled her neck before sucking lightly on a spot that made her legs shake. “Is that so?”

His voice was still quiet, and slightly darker now. There was an edge of possession and triumph to it that made her shiver in anticipation. God—she was already practically vibrating in his arms and he hadn’t even come close to touching her yet. All she could think about was how badly she needed this. Now that they were rapidly hurtling toward the inevitable, Hermione had no idea how she’d held off this long.

She kissed him hard as an answer, dragging herself close until she could feel the hard curve of him against her thigh. When she purposefully ground her hips against him he emitted a quiet, masculine groan into her mouth that sent a rush of heat through her entire body. Hermione allowed herself a brief moment to feel pleasantly smug about his reactions to her. Gone was his casual nonchalance from the weekend.

Finally.

Malfoy began to take purposeful steps forward, nudging her back toward the bed. She stumbled backward in sync with his steps, still clinging to him, and she barely noticed when she fell onto the mattress. He was hovering over her an instant later, hands on either side of her head, his body irritatingly far from hers as he dipped his head to keep kissing her. She fought a whimper when he nibbled on her bottom lip. Still, even after kissing her for a long time and making her head spin, he didn’t bring himself closer. Hermione arched her back, trying to achieve the nearness to his body that she wanted, but all he did was drag one hand down her torso, over her hip, and around to the back of her thigh.

He ran the hand over her hip again, right along her pelvis, so close to her center that she thought _god,_ _yes, finally,_ _good,_ _he’s going to do it..._ _to_ _uch me_ _already_ _—_

But he still didn’t.

He surprised her by taking her hand and pulling her back up until they were both kneeling on the bed, facing each other. Malfoy’s hand came down to cup her chin, tilting her head slowly up to kiss her. It was soft again. Hermione’s heart thrummed along almost painfully in her chest. It only got worse when he ran his hands through her hair and then trailed down, brushing the curve of her breast through her dress. Hermione gasped quietly at just this simple, clothed touch, trying to arch into his hand.

But he took his hands off her _again._ Her eyes flew open. He was watching her, his eyes dark and intense but also glittering with traces of amusement, which confirmed for her that he was indeed teasing. She narrowed her eyes slightly at him; his mouth quirked up on one side. And then Hermione was promptly distracted by his hands moving down to undo the buttons on his dress shirt.

He’d only done two of them before Hermione decided enough was enough. She drew herself higher, knocked his hands out of the way, and began working at the buttons herself. Malfoy caught both sides of her face and tilted her head up again to capture her gaze, and her heart momentarily faltered. But she still valiantly worked at his buttons, even while not breaking eye contact with him. She could feel his chest rising and falling below her hands. He was staring at her in a way that made her shiver again.

She only got the shirt halfway open before she leaned in and pressed her lips to his exposed chest. She moved her hands up to skim his broad shoulders, trailing kisses upward, flicking her tongue out to taste his skin. When she reached his neck, she sucked lightly, and he jolted under her. His fingers came to tug at the rest of his buttons, and he was shrugging his shirt off, and Hermione immediately ducked lower, to his abdomen this time, kissing and licking and nipping, running her hands appreciatively over him.

This time when she came back up she found his mouth, and as he kissed her she felt one of his hands slide down to her arse, bunching the fabric up, squeezing and kneading. Hermione moaned faintly. The way kissed her now was bruising.

Feeling like she might actually combust, Hermione reached down to brush the hardened curve of his cock through his trousers. She was rewarded with a low groan into her mouth that set her ablaze. Malfoy reached around to start pulling—though agonizingly slowly—at her dress zipper.

He took his time even after it was undone, moving to run his fingers through her hair again, tucking some hair behind her ear, trailing over her face, before he finally, _finally_ , started to pull the dress over her head. Hermione lifted her arms to encourage him. Her breasts slid out from under the fabric, and she heard his sharp intake of breath before the dress was completely over her head and being tossed off to the side. When she saw his face again, he looked as if he’d been hit square in the head with a Bludger. He’d clearly been expecting a bra.

He stared at her kneeling there in just her knickers, his eyes glazed, their gray color now almost entirely obscured by black. Hermione felt herself throb again just at the look on his face. “Fuck,” Malfoy muttered, rather hoarsely, eyes still dragging up and down her, seemingly incapable of saying anything else, and Hermione again felt that dash of smug pride.

Malfoy looked sinfully good—shirtless, his trousers bunched tight around an obvious bulge, his abdomen chiseled. Even kneeling like this on the bed he was tall and sturdy, looming over her.

His chest moved rapidly as he took her in, eyes drifting along her as if deciding what to do with her first.

Hermione felt an electric thrill run up her spine.

His lips came blissfully back to hers, hard and insistent, and then he dragged his tongue down the length of her neck. Hermione shuddered and reached up to weave her fingers through his hair. When he arrived at her right breast and took it into his mouth she let out a faint keening sound, gripping at him so fiercely that she was pulling hard at his hair now, but he didn’t complain. He caressed her with his hands, thumb grazing over her hardened nipple, at the same time that his mouth lightly kissed and teased her. A strangled moan tore out of her when he finally swirled his tongue around her nipple and took it in his mouth, sucking lightly.

“Oh— _god_ ,” she gasped, tightening her hold on his hair even further. All she could do was mumble half coherent curse words as he alternated between slow, teasing flicks of his tongue, and taking it in his mouth and suckling. His mouth was wet and hot Hermione wanted to scream.

When he moved away and up to kiss her again, she was shaking.

He pushed her until she was lying on her back again, hair sprawled wildly over the pillow.

He took another long moment to just look at her, eyes alight with want.

Hermione had never been with someone that so openly gazed at her like this, so many times and for so long; nor had she been with someone who held quite as much eye contact. It was both nerve-wracking and empowering, frightening and arousing.

His fingertips, warm against her skin, began tracing a line up her calf, along her knee, and slowly along her inner thigh. Hermione trembled, biting back moans, feeling like she might shatter.

He dipped his head to kiss down her sternum. Hermione twisted on the bed, inwardly begging him to finally touch her where she was aching. She felt so helplessly empty. She was certain that he could feel the heat radiating out of her already when his hand moved up her legs and closer to her center. She was also certain her knickers were ruined.

But he still just ghosted close to her core, dancing across her inner thighs, without actually touching her. She could hardly think straight. She wanted him to fuck her. She wanted him to push deep into her, over and over, until she was no longer able to form a coherent sentence. Draco finally grazed her over the fabric and Hermione let out a low hiss between her teeth, arching toward him even further, her back bent almost impossibly far to try and find more friction against his hand.

The feather light touches were almost worse than nothing.

He kept doing them, over and over, making her writhe and squirm.

He knew what he was doing; the sexy, arrogant bastard.

“Malfoy—Draco—please,” she managed to get out, by now far past caring that she was begging.

She saw a smile turn the corners of his mouth upward before he ducked his head down once more, curling his tongue around her right nipple and sucking. Hermione whimpered softly, gripping him so hard that her nails dug into his arms. Finally— _finally_ —his fingers slipped inside the band of her knickers, found her clit, and brushed it. Hermione tensed completely and let out a strangled sound she was quite sure she’d never made before. She writhed under him as he alternated between rubbing slow, steady circles and dragging a finger up her slit, groaning when he felt how slick she was.

He came up to nibble on her ear. “Granger. _Granger_. You’re so wet for me.” His voice was husky.

Hermione felt half crazed. She wanted to reply, but then he dragged a finger up her slit again, this time applying more pressure on her clit when he reached it and she could only moan faintly. His circular teasing gradually become faster and faster. Hermione was already starting to see stars when he stopped. Before she could let out a faint noise of complaint, Malfoy kissed her, pulling her knickers off the rest of the way as he did so, sliding them down her calves, over her ankles, and tossing them away to join her dress on the floor.

He dragged a teasing hand up and along her legs, and they quaked in response. She felt like she was about to levitate off the bed when he ducked down to kiss her knee, and then higher on her thigh, moving up and up and up. She was so achingly sensitive that at this point even his light breathing against her swollen core was almost painful. He hovered for a moment, kissing and nipping at her inner thighs. One of his hands slid around to the back of her thighs again, squeezing gently, spreading her legs open wider for him and pulling her hips closer. She’d been clenching her legs together, trying to get more friction, without even realizing it.

Breathing hurt. Her chest was about to explode from anticipation.

When he attached his mouth to her clit and gave a feather light suck, she threw her head back and let out a long, low moan, reaching to clutch at one of his shoulders, her other hand twisting in the sheets.

“Fuck,” she breathed, as his tongue curved along her and his nose brushed her clit, sending ripples of pleasure up her spine. “Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ —”

He probed and kissed and teased with his tongue, occasionally coming up to flick it quickly over her clit. Each time he did it she wanted to scream. His pace was still agonizingly slow, and Hermione couldn’t help but start to rhythmically jut her hips out to increase the friction. He sped up to match her, moaning into her, and the resulting vibrations had her thrashing on the bed. Her stomach contracted and rippled as she rolled her hips into his mouth; he reached up and gently caressed one of her breasts, massaging it skillfully under his fingers.

When she looked down to watch him between her legs she saw that his eyes were upward, observing how her body moved.

Hermione nearly screamed again when he moved to her clit and lightly sucked again. She was pleased when he stayed there with his tongue, adding more and more pressure, bringing her up and up and up. Her head fell back onto the pillow. “Don’t stop,” she panted. “Please. Please don’t stop.” She reached for his hair, weaving it between her fingers, and began to roll her hips into his mouth again, unabashedly fucking his face.

She heard him growl in his throat, and he began flicking his tongue faster.

The room went blurry.

“Yes,” Hermione practically sobbed, as the pressure inside her built and built, approaching the breaking point. “Yesyesyes—oh _god_ —”

He took her clit in his mouth and sucked, hard, and Hermione shattered.

This time she actually did let out a soft scream as tremors of white-hot pleasure ripped their way through her entire body. She shook and convulsed on the bed, fingers still gripping Malfoy’s hair. It felt like it went on forever. When it finally subsided she went limp, panting, eyes still squeezed shut.

Her muscles were mush.

She was so dazed that it took her a lot longer than it should have to realize that he was still between her legs, slowly licking her arousal off her thighs and still very, very gently kissing and licking her. Hermione let out a low, incoherent moan. Malfoy kept going, still carefully, until the sensitivity had all but faded. “Wow,” she murmured, still pleasantly warm and relaxed, despite the building ache he was already coaxing between her thighs again with his tongue.

She heard him chuckle. His warm mouth moved away from her and his hands ran slowly up her body, his mouth following their path, until he was up over her, gripping her face again. “Knew you’d taste amazing,” he told her, sucking lightly on her neck before groaning into her skin.

Hermione let out a desperate noise, grabbed his jaw, pulled his face up to hers again, and kissed him. He kissed her for a while, though it was tender and soft, and for a moment everything slowed down.

“I want to be in you now,” Malfoy murmured against her mouth after a few minutes.

Hermione agreed. She was not waiting any longer.

She took his shoulders, forcefully flipped him over to straddle him, and began undoing his belt. Malfoy stared up at her with a look of vague surprise before a slow smile spread over his face, his eyes dragging shamelessly over her as she got his trousers and boxers pulled down to his knees.

His cock sprang out and she stared for a few seconds before flicking up to meet his gaze. He smiled, wrapped his arms around her and pulled her flush against his chest. “ _Hermione_ ,” he murmured into her ear, and the tone of his voice made Hermione tremble.

She slowly sank onto him, relishing in their simultaneous moans, gratified when she saw how he closed his eyes and his face scrunched with pleasure as her walls enveloped him. “You feel—so good,” he breathed, as she sunk lower until she had taken him all the way to the hilt. Hermione nipped at his neck, buried her face into it, just savoring the sensation of him inside her. It was perfect. Better than she’d imagined. Draco planted his feet on the bed, his thighs tilted up, and Hermione shifted to put her hands on either side of him, breasts in his face, and slowly started to ride him.

Each time she moved her hips was slow and deliberate. She wanted to feel every inch of him sliding out and then back in. His breathing became more ragged, and she felt him tilt his hips up just slightly more, his hands encircling her hips, still letting her lead but ensuring that he would hit her deeper. And it was just the right spot. The right angle. So fucking deep. So good. And so agonizingly slow.

He picked up the pace, thrusting his hips out now to meet hers. Hermione's hands come to grip his shoulders; his hand came to weave into her hair and pull her closer, until her forehead came down to touch his. She choked on whimpers as he began picking up the snapping motion of his hips.The sound of her arse clapping loudly against his strong thighs filled the room. Hermione couldn’t tear her eyes away from his. His expression was half ravenous, half stunned. As if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing; that he was here with her.

This was easily the most erotic thing that had ever happened to her. She was going to lose her mind.

Draco’s hands run up her spine, and Hermione followed the sweep of the motion, sitting up straighter. She rolled her hips higher and fucked him hard. Harder. She watched his glazed eyes move down to watch the way her tits bounced before they trailed down her body, down her stomach, to where they are joined, watching where he was sliding into her, over and over. He started to piston ruthlessly up and into her, and she grabbed at his chest for leverage. Whimpers and moans were tumbling unbidden from Hermione’s mouth now. Draco’s eyes had come back to her face, and one of his hands moved so his thumb could swiftly rub her clit.

Hermione cried out, biting her lip as the shock waves from the added pleasure nearly sent her over for a second time. But she held back. She wanted more of this. Of him inside her. Just a little longer.

Draco let out a guttural moan, his other hand coming to caress her breast. “So tight. You’re so—sexy. So beautiful,” he panted, his voice low and raspy and sending more tingles up Hermione’s entire body.

He worked her clit faster, and she rocked against him. His cock kept hitting just the right spot inside her.

“I’m—close,” Hermione managed to whisper, hoarsely.

His hands came to grip her hips, and he suddenly flipped her over so that she was on her back, pushing back into her in one fluid movement. Hermione keened, throwing her head back against the pillow, and he took the opportunity to bury his head into her neck.

He started to roll his hips again. Slowly. Pulling all the way out before slamming in again. Hermione clutched at his back desperately, pushing out to meet him. This time the slower interlude did not last as long. Soon the pace was brutal again; long, hard, deep strokes as he fucked her into the mattress, his body pressed as closely to hers as possible, his skin hot and soothing against hers.

He kissed her, and she felt his desperation.

One of his hands slid up to gently but possessively hold her throat, and she almost came right there. His eyes were on her face again. The intensity of him. There was nothing like it. He pulsed his hips up and then paused, momentarily bottomed out inside her, and the sound he made ignited her.

“Draco,” she moaned faintly, trying to move her hips.

He began to thrust again, picking up speed gradually.

“Tell me what you want,” he growled, and the command shot a thrill between her legs.

Hermione was not well versed in dirty talk. She said the only thing that came to her hazy mind. “I want you to come in me.” She saw something primal flash in his eyes when she said it. Feeling bolder, she continued breathlessly, “Please come in me.”

Draco let out a noise that could only be described as a snarl. He was staring down at her now with an almost feral expression. “ _Fuck_. I’ll come in you,” he promised roughly, gripping her hips as he drove into her harder, and her gasps and moans built into a crescendo to match the sensation that was intensifying in her core. “As soon as you’re coming, as soon as I feel your perfect little cunt tightening, I’ll fill you up. Is that what you want?”

Hermione whimpered and nodded, squeezing her eyes shut. His words had her on the edge of her sanity. Every thrust of his hips ground against her clit. She was so close—so, so close—

His mouth came to capture hers again, his hand trailing along her jaw and neck. She scrambled to hold onto something as she felt the crest approaching, clutching desperately at his broad shoulders. “That’s right,” he encouraged huskily, feeling her walls begin to flutter, his forehead touching hers again. “Yes. _Yes_ —”

One more long, deep stroke, and the tight coil inside Hermione, the one he'd so expertly wound, snapped.

She twisted under him, and the bliss hit her like a train for the second time that night. She was floating in the ecstasy of her release, and it was only magnified when she felt Draco twitch as he met his own peak. He groaned, jerking his hips erratically as he came inside her as promised. His hands were hot on her skin and he gripped her close to him as they both rode out their waves before going still, his body warm and heavy, but not unpleasantly so, on top of her.

After a moment, Draco pressed his lips into her neck. And then again. He made his way up to her lips and kissed her until she could hardly breathe, his hands sweeping through her hair. When he rolled off, he didn’t move far away. He reached out with lazy arms, pulling her into his chest, one of his hands still petting her hair.

Completely relaxed, completely exhausted, Hermione let his steady breathing and his still rapidly beating heart lull her to sleep.


	8. After

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof, it's been ages. Thank you so much for your patience. 
> 
> This has only been lightly edited, so feel free to point out any glaring errors.☺️
> 
> I hope you enjoy the final chapter!

* * *

Hermione woke with an arm draped over her waist, nestled against Malfoy’s chest, and to the sounds of his slow, steady breathing behind her. They were also still very much naked.

Oh, Merlin.

It was time to think about all this, since thinking had gone straight out the window yesterday.

Recognizing that it would be much easier to sort out her brain away from Malfoy’s presence, Hermione wriggled experimentally in his grasp, testing just how easily she would be able to get away and to the shower without waking him. If she woke him, he’d open those gray eyes and give her that stare that seemed to melt her into mush, and she’d probably be useless again.

This was nothing short of terrifying. Hermione prided herself on her brain. She needed her brain. The Wizarding World would not have been saved without her brain. And she’d never had someone be so capable of turning it off, much less that someone be _Draco_ _Malfoy_.

Even more terrifying was the way she felt certainly wasn’t just physical.

Hermione continued to wriggle inch by inch, slightly more desperately now, but still carefully enough so as not to wake Malfoy.

There was a brief, heart-stopping moment where his breathing pattern changed and he shifted and she thought _well,_ _so much for escaping to clear my head;_ but then the slow, deep breaths returned and she successfully slid out from under the sheets. Hermione slipped on a robe, snatched some clothes, and hurried as quickly and quietly as she could out the bedroom door.

Once in the shower, Hermione tried to let the hot water relax her. She let it soothe the tension in her shoulders and the pained tightness in her calves; the result of clenching her legs so long and hard last night. And it did help relax her muscles, but her mind was still racing.

Okay, so she should probably tell Malfoy how she feels. It wasn’t as though it was that great of a risk. She was approximately 98.7% certain that he reciprocated her feelings. But the inkling, nagging uncertainty was still there. And the thought that if she was wrong—and Hermione wasn’t used to being wrong very often, but _if_ she was—it could potentially make things very awkward at the charity.

Though, she reflected, it was probably already too late for that.

No, there was no real excuse. She had to tell him, though she would prefer to do it after the flurry of activity that came with heading home.

She’d get through breakfast, they’d Floo home, and they’d talk.

Satisfied now that she’d found an acceptable solution to her problem, Hermione finished her shower, dressed, and wandered through the corridors of the gigantic chateau for her final breakfast in France. She tried to ignore the frantic, fluttering beats of her heart that betrayed her nerves, but when she arrived Malfoy was not yet there. The kitchen was, as usual, exquisitely laid out with a breakfast buffet. Those that were awake—everyone, it seemed, except for Luna and Malfoy—called out warm greetings to Hermione as she entered.

She smiled and began to scoop eggs onto her plate, jumping when someone eventually came up behind her and clapped a hand on her shoulder. When Hermione half turned she saw that it was Ron, his blue eyes still bleary with sleep and red hair more than a little tousled. He was smiling at her. “Hey,” he said, as he stood beside her and began loading up on bread rolls.

Hermione stared a moment as she counted ten of them, then shook her head fondly. Ron’s appetite was a thing of legend. She wondered which plate he was currently stacking full right now—his second or his third? “Hey,” she replied.

Ron glanced over his shoulder and lowered his voice, leaning in so that no one would overhear. “I just wanted to tell you,” he said quietly, “that you were right about Malfoy. I’m not sorry for being cautious at the beginning, but I do hope you know that I trust your judgment, Hermione. And I can tell he really likes you.”

Hermione’s heart squeezed with affection as she beamed up at Ron—her ex, but her best friend, always, always her best friend—and she opened her mouth to speak, but before she could get a word out Malfoy’s lilting draw floated in her ear from behind them.

The sound of it promptly sent her stomach into a twisting frenzy.

“Observant, Weasley,” Malfoy said, though he didn’t sound scathing. He sounded almost amused. And indeed, when they both turned his eyebrow was raised, but he was looking at Ron with something almost like warmth. “I do happen to _like_ my girlfriend, curiously.”

Ron’s eyes swept over Malfoy as if cautiously sizing up whether he was being insulted, but Malfoy’s lips just quirked up to the side.

Hermione thought she might be witnessing the beginning of a strange and unlikely friendship.

She had to work to keep her jaw from hanging open.

“Well,” said Ron, grinning as he added half the available sausages to his plate, “I’m happy for you both. I really am.”

He squeezed Hermione’s shoulder again and wandered back off to the table with his plate, whistling between his teeth, where Gabrielle was waiting to coo at him, brush his hair back, and fuss over the fact that he hadn’t brought himself anything to drink.

Fighting a laugh, Hermione turned her gaze back to Malfoy, trying to ignore the wriggling that felt as though her stomach was full of Flobberworms. The look on his face did not help; observing her carefully, gray eyes like molten steel and significantly darker than usual.

“Morning,” she squeaked. Flushing and inwardly cursing this betrayal of her vocal cords, she turned back to continue filling her plate with fruit.

His deft fingers curled around a plate. Just looking at them out of the corner of her eye made her flustered.

Already she was feeling the tinglings of arousal again. This was just utter madness.

“I admit, Granger,” he said, his voice low and careful, “that I was rather disappointed when I woke to find that you’d run off this morning.”

Hermione’s stomach did a violent somersault. “Just needed a shower,” she said lightly.

“Pity,” he murmured, his arm brushing hers as he took a bunch of grapes, “I could have joined you.”

A delightful shiver ran through Hermione all the way down to her toes. She clenched her thighs together and tried to think of the proper thing to say, but Malfoy was already strolling away, plate in hand, answering Theo’s greeting as he slid into the table. Hermione, finally free from distractions, finished her own plate and slowly made her way to the table, sliding in beside Malfoy.

He didn’t turn away from talking to Theo, but one of his hands slid over to rest on her bare knee and lightly squeezed.

Hermione was thankful for Luna’s arrival in the kitchen, glad for the distraction, for Malfoy had begun tracing light patterns around her knee with his fingers, moving higher and higher up her thigh. Hermione sincerely hoped her legs weren’t already quivering. However, under cover of the greetings called out to Luna as the blonde floated dreamily to the breakfast table, Malfoy leaned over and whispered into her ear, “As soon as I’m alone with you, Hermione, I fully intend to bury my face between your thighs again.”

Hermione nearly choked on a grape. Her brain went fuzzy and the rush of heat between her legs was nearly painful.

Merlin, he was going to kill her.

When she glanced at him, cheeks flaming, he was looking innocently away, though she saw the ghost of a smirk on his face.

Prat.

“Something is different,” said Luna, frowning a little in thought as she plunked right on Theodore’s lap. It seemed to be her spot of choice.

Theo handed her his juice to sip as the rest of the table half listened. They were used to Luna’s bizarre announcements. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know,” mused Luna. “The aura in here is different.” She held up a finger as if testing the air. “Something has changed.”

Ron scoffed, though quietly.

Malfoy gave Hermione a sly look and then flicked his eyes very briefly downward.

Hermione decided right then it was much safer not to look at him for the rest of breakfast.

* * *

The mood was cheerful as everyone departed the chateau after breakfast, trudging along the path together with their belongings to reach the Floo point outside the gates. As they all gathered around, chattering, Hermione recognized a distinct happiness bubbling up in her chest, looming there, making her feel contented and at peace. Even though she hadn’t wanted to come this weekend and it had all started out as a stupid show of her pride, she was truly glad that she had.

As soon as they were all through customs at the Ministry and she and Malfoy had parted ways from the others—after hugs, and laughter, and cheerful declarations to catch up in the next few days and plan more get togethers—Malfoy lightly took her arm as they walked.

“Can I come over, Granger?”

His voice was casual, but Hermione knew what he was really asking. It was all over his face, and she would know even if he hadn’t been teasing her with those whispered words and the slide of his palm on her bare thigh all through breakfast. He was asking for her verbal assent; ensuring his advances were wanted.

“Yes,” she said, feeling liquid heat coil in her belly.

She stepped through the green flames first and dropped her bag. Crookshanks came running, and she reached down to scratch his ears. He’d been fed and played with regularly by someone in her building as he always was when Hermione was away too long, but she knew he’d missed her. The roar of flames behind her announced Malfoy’s arrival only seconds later, and Hermione straightened.

She turned to face him, opened her mouth to speak and talk about their situation, but he didn’t give her time. He dropped his bag and descended on her in one fell swoop, ensnaring her jaw between his hands and kissing her fiercely.

Malfoy’s mouth was warm and fierce on hers. Hungry. He was acting like he hadn’t just shagged her less than twelve hours ago.

_Talk after, then,_ Hermione relented inwardly, and then she melted against him, gripping his shoulders hard as he took steps forward, driving her back until she roughly hit the wall behind her. She didn’t care one bit. His hands slid down her sides, rested on her hips, pushing her more firmly against the wall, the lines of his body pinning her. She could already feel the curve of his cock pressing insistently against her thigh.

She bit her lip to hold back the whimper that wanted to tear out of her throat when he dipped to kiss and nibble along her jaw, her earlobe, her neck, his fingers hooking into her knickers and yanking them down to her ankles before he began almost desperately bunching the material of her dress up and over her hips.

“I want you fucking my tongue,” he growled into her ear, nipping at the lobe one more time before quickly kneeling before her.

The air from his mouth made her gasp, and then his mouth was on her, hot and wet and gentle.

“Oh—oh _god_ ,” she practically sobbed, as his tongue licked up her, long and slow. Hermione hissed and weaved her fingers into his hair, pulling, feeling all the muscles in her core already clenching and contracting as she jerked her hips forward, aching for more friction.

He took one of her legs and hooked it over his shoulder, used his fingers to pull her folds apart, and buried his face deeper into her cunt.

Hermione’s head fell back against the wall, eyes glazing as he lapped at her. Slow and methodical. Dragging his tongue along her slit and then carefully flicking it from side to side, swirling it around her hardened clit. “Fuck— _fuck_ ,” Hermione gasped, rolling her hips to meet his mouth. He growled into her and licked at her faster, sucking and nipping at her clit, coiling her tighter and tighter and tighter and then—

He stopped.

He pulled her apart again and blew air along her cunt. Hermione let out a strangled sound and her legs tightened around his head.

When his mouth returned he was slow again, curling his tongue along her carefully. Then faster. Just before she came, he pulled away, spread her apart, and blew air on her once more, lightly, teasing. Hermione nearly sobbed again. Every muscle in her body was tense. All sensation felt concentrated between her legs.

Malfoy did this three more agonizing times until her legs felt like jelly and she was panting, her clit positively throbbing.

“Please,” she whispered, hoarsely.

He obliged her command and buried his face into her again. She moaned and ground down on his mouth, hard, frantically moving her hips in circular motions and jolting them forward and onto his skilled, teasing tongue. She didn't care about seeming desperate anymore. Everything ached. This time when the stars began to build behind her eyes he didn’t pull away. He flicked his tongue back and forth on her clit with rough, precise movements.

“Draco—Draco— _yes_ —”

One, two, three more strokes of his tongue and Hermione’s vision blurred, her hips arching upward with a guttural cry as she came hard into his mouth. He lapped at the slick that poured out of her eagerly, groaning, sending vibrations up her cunt that made her quiver and prolonged the wave of pleasure that lashed up her spine and curved her back into a nearly impossible shape.

He stood, letting her dress fall, and picked her up, carrying her over to the couch, Hermione kicking off her undergarments as she went.

He sat, pulling her into his lap, trailing kisses up her neck as she lay slumped against him, warm and content and letting her breathing slow.

“Don’t get too comfortable.” He licked a slow stripe up her neck and then kissed her. “I’m just letting you rest for a moment.”

Hermione’s fingers tightened on his neck and she said, “Should we…discuss what this is? For us?” Her voice was still relaxed, almost sluggish, and she was still in a bit of a haze, but she needed to know where they stood.

He pulled back to look at her. One of his hands cupped her face. “Only if you promise not to freak out,” he said softly.

Hermione was very aware of the thud of her heart in her ears. “Why would I freak out?”

“Because,” said Malfoy, his thumb brushing gently along her cheekbone, eyes trailing almost reverently about her face, “I have been in love with you for roughly the past year, Hermione.” She blinked. He hastened to add, at the dumbstruck look on her face, “I am aware that this is newer for you, if it’s even the same for you at all. That’s okay. I—I don’t have expectations.” He swallowed.

“It—it is,” said Hermione, torn between laughing with relief and happiness and wanting to cry at the vulnerability on his face. “I do like you.”

Draco’s face broke into a dazzling smile. “Yeah?”

She gave him a shy smile in return. “Yeah. Why didn’t you tell me? Earlier? After Ron and I broke up, I mean.”

His thumb brushed her cheek again. “I don’t know. Seemed wrong to swoop in right after. And then, after that…I guess I honestly didn’t think I had a chance.” He grinned mischievously. “But when you had your little problem I couldn’t resist the opportunity to feel it out a little.”

Hermione giggled. “How very Slytherin of you.”

She still felt almost dizzy. A whole year. Even before she and Ron had broken up.

“What now?” she whispered, and he leaned forward, capturing her mouth softly with his.

“How about,” Draco said, “we just start by removing the fake label and the five week relationship limit.”

Hermione reached out, trailed her hands along his sharp jaw. “I’m a little scared,” she admitted. “I really like you.”

His other hand came to cover her fingers with his. He kissed her palm. “Me too. But I want you. I want to see where things take us.”

Hermione suddenly gave him a very devilish grin. “Things could,” she suggested mildly, “take us to the bedroom? Right now?”

Draco’s gray eyes glinted and then went dark. The look on his face already made Hermione’s breath catch in her throat. “I do really love how that big brain of yours thinks, Granger,” he told her, before gathering her closer, shifting to stand, and carrying her away down the hall.

* * *

“Stop fussing with it.”

“It’s a mess.”

“You always think your hair is a mess, and you’re always wrong. It just makes you look very fuckable.”

Hermione swatted at Draco, trying to contain her grin.

Together, they entered the little pub. A chorus of cheers and greetings rose up as they crossed the threshold of the door; everyone else was already there—Ron and Gabrielle, Harry and Ginny, Theo and Luna. They’d been having regular meetings for the past three months now.

“Guess what tonight is!” Ron cried out as they slid into the familiar booth, raising his Firewhiskey with a grin.

“We all already know, Weasley,” said Draco, with a dramatic little sigh, sliding his arm around Hermione’s shoulders. “Last time—”

“MALFOY’S NIGHT!” they all chorused in unison, and then dissolved into raucous laughter, completely ignoring the looks of alarm from the fellow patrons of the bar and the glare of the bartender.

“— _last_ time this happened,” Draco repeated, rolling his eyes, “I nearly collapsed at seeing the bill. _Me_. That’s how much it was.”

“Oh, stop complaining and fund our night of debauchery, you rich little arse,” said Ginny fondly, patting his arm and signaling the bar again for another round of what was sure to be the most expensive drinks they’d had since the last time Draco had been the one to pay.

Draco just sniffed, but Hermione could tell he was fighting a smile.

One of his hands came to twirl gently on her curls as talk around the table moved to Quidditch. “I was thinking,” Draco murmured to her, “that you and I could have our own vacation soon. Just you and I. What do you think of Morocco?”

“I think I’ll be putting a lot of sunscreen and sun protection spells on you that still somehow won’t work.”

He tugged on her hair in faux indignation.

“I think that sounds lovely,” said Hermione, with a happy little sigh, nestling closer into his side.

“I love you,” he reminded her. He leaned down and gave her a tender, lingering kiss on the corner of her mouth.

“I love you too,” she whispered back, reaching to twine his warm fingers with hers.

And then the drinks arrived, and giddy shouts went up around the table.

And Hermione, smiling widely, settled in for another enjoyable night with the people she loved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was just a silly, fluffy rom-com I wanted to write since things have been depressing for a lot of people lately. I have been pleasantly surprised by the fact that people did in fact read this.😂 
> 
> I started it almost a year ago, so there may be things I would change and improvements I would make at this point, but I’m so happy to have finally finished it. And even if updates were a mess, you were all SO patient and wonderful. So I just wanted to say: thank you so, SO much. Truly. You’re all gems. I can't believe how friendly and welcoming the Dramione fandom is.💚
> 
> I have some more Dramione things in the works, so feel free to follow me here and/or on Tumblr (@nellasera) to keep up on that, if you like. And of course, I always love it if anyone wants to come say hi.
> 
> All the love! Have a beautiful week.  
> -Nell


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